#if any of you have watched hot fuzz you know what i mean

[no-tengo-ojos]

I’ve only ever had one TMA fic idea and it’s recreations of scenes where The Archivist is talking but written in West Country slang because he’s from Bournemouth

Basically I want Jon to call Martin his ‘loverr’ and neck a can of Thatchers Gold because I think it would be funny

[klunkcat]

Life is short, and I've shortened mine

rise of the tmnt gift fic for the T3 server november exchange, for the very lovely @remedyturtles

Sensei is a character that can actually be so life changing and brain consuming. Very grateful to have the opportunity to play in your sandbox, exploring their headspaces is actually incredible and also devastating.

Note: This is an offshoot from Rem’s “little kid with a big death wish” fic and will not make sense on its own I fear.

title from good bones by Maggie Smith

read on ao3

___

He didn’t ask for this, is the crucial thing. He’d been— not relieved to be dead, because he hadn’t managed to make it yet to where his brothers were, because his kid was still out there fighting for tomorrow. Relieved was too gentle a word, but he’d been something. 

Maybe less tired. 

It was nice to think about, selfishly. He’s been carrying lead weights and anchors at the edges of himself since the moment the world fell, but there’d never been any other volunteers for the job. Somewhere quietly inside himself he’d thought the ending would mean a moment of reprieve. He should have known, though. They’d all been the universe's favorite chew toys for long enough, dying was too nice a bow to wrap around it. 

He really hadn’t asked for this, no matter what the subconscious thoughts he’d hit to death with sticks in the back of his mind said about escaping. Stumbling across the kid— another him, a version of him he’d never gotten to be, that he thinks maybe distantly he shouldn’t have needed to be— he’d hoped he could silently wrap himself in that thick blanket of nothing and fade out at least. Not fuck things up for him worse, but, well. 

Maybe the throughline to being Hamato Leonardo was fate-led curiosity; he’d never learned how to leave well enough alone in either direction. Of course Leo had scouted him out, of course he’d been compelled to try to help the kid float when he should have stayed put, of course. Of course. 

And so, as the classics say, here they were. 

“Can you give me a number, Leo?” Raph’s voice creeps in, all-over earnest and thoughtful in the way he intrinsically is—was. It’s a shard of glass to hear it at all, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. The kid fuzzes out a little and slips sideways a step; oops , Leo thinks. There’s a hard line around not transmitting too loud, he’s still trying to figure it out. 

Could do without whatever that was ever again , the kid thinks, sharp and rattled under the surface.

Leo winces. Sorry, I’m all thumbs over here. Trying to keep quiet. 

Psh, younger Leo rolls his eyes. You’re all one thumb .

The kid turns back to his brother, thrumming still between a one and zero now. He’s scrambling to ground still, to focus. He gives Raph a quick OK sign that there’s no way Raph doesn’t see through. It’s kind of funny to watch his force-fire white-knuckling deflection in technicolor from the outside like this, he’s not sure why he ever thought this worked. 

“That’s okay, that’s fine. Can you give me a number, bud?” The pleading edge hurts to hear. 

They hold up a shaky one, maybe overconfidently. Mikey and Don are in the room somewhere, he can hear them shuffling even with Leo’s eyes closed. The sudden memory of a thousand days where the only rest his littlest brother got was when he was locked in meditation, the way he walked like his bones and joints hurt right up until the end, nearly knocks them both back to a firm zero. 

The kid glares at him, Leo holds his hand up apologetically and imagines zipping his non-existent lips shut. 

They’d been doing better for the last few days. He’d started talking out loud, had been at a solid two a handful of times. He knows the kid’s frustrated and exhausted, he can feel it, especially seeing them slip all the way back. Leo feels a hot well of shame creep up his ethereal throat. 

He knows it’s a push and pull game they’re playing. Wounded leading the wounded, and all. 

It’s still a lot, to think of seeing his family that isn’t his family. Of them knowing he existed and talking to him. Points towards the ‘he should fuck off forever’ category, as soon as they figured out how to get rid of him.

(The kid talked about it like they’d miss him if he left, like there’d be some great love lost— they didn’t know him, though. He’d lived through twenty years of a war they’d never have to see. Leo was not the teen they were missing, the one they were trying to call home, because he’d given that up a long time ago.

Of course he had to leave, this kid had a life of his own to live now. Leo didn’t have anything.)

“ — he was for a moment, just give him time,” Raph’s saying. He forces the kid to take a purposeful long breath in, squeeze his fingers, twitch his toes. Keep him from tipping all the way over into the dark where he’d accidently shoved them. 

“See, he’s back with us,” Raph continues, brightly. The kid groggily radiated all sorts of furious signals like a firecracker popping in several unplanned directions, all different fonts screaming exhaustion and hurt the only way he knew how. Leo’s heart aches for him. Beating himself down for daring to survive at all. 

“Is he?” Don’s voice cuts in haughtily. Leo makes them blink their eyes open, caught out despite the kid’s anger. 

They’re looking for you, bud. Rise and shine.

I don’t care, the kid hisses. Fuck off. 

Okay. Well. Less than ideal. 

“Which one are we dealing with,” Don’s voice hovers closer, half lodged in icy suspicion. He wouldn’t be this closed off for his Leo, obviously. Leo�� Sensei smothers a sigh. 

“He’s trying not to  answer the phone right now. So, just me. Sorry.” 

“Is he okay?” Raph asks, concern evident in the dark shadow of his brow. Sensei can’t look at it directly, it’s not for him to feel all the reminiscent grief of a brother that isn’t even his. How he feels about any of this never helps anything. 

“He’s….” He prods the kid and gets an indistinguishable slew of curses and general hypothetical middle fingers back. “He’s taking a break, he’s okay.” 

Don arches a brow back. “I don’t care that we’re forced to take your word for this, just to be clear.” 

“Fair enough. He says, and I quote, bite me, so I think that’s where we’re at.” 

“Ah,” Raph hums. “Well, if you can tell him I’ll be back in ten minutes with tea, I’d love to check in on him then.” 

Sensei nods, relays the message with a garbled hiss as a response. Expected. 

Don stares at him, impassive. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Feral cat radiating protective instincts three counties wide, like always.

It’s… an ache under the skin, to be left alone with Don. He hasn’t forgotten the way Dee’s face would shift in a scowl, he never could, but seeing it played out on a younger face scratches something in him regardless. 

“I want to speak with my brother, if it’s all the same,” Don says, blunt. 

“I’ve been trying to ring him, I promise. Bad morning.” 

Don arches a brow with a twitch to his jaw Sensei knows means he’s attempting to fight off a full on annoyed pout and failing. It hits him sideways to see, funny in the chest. A thousand sense memories, a different Donnie and a different place, coalescing all into one. His Don had gotten really good at not emoting at all near the end, he’d almost forgotten.

Hey, the kid grouses. Who’s flying this plane?

Right, thumbs again, Not-his-Don hovers closer when he blinks back to the front. A frown touches the middle of his maskless forehead. 

He makes himself walk through a few quick grounding steps and breathe in as deep as he can before speaking. “Back, sorry. Uh, Sensei, that is. Leo’s listening though.” 

Don’s still frowning, but he leans back a touch. “He’s making it harder for you to stay here too, isn’t he?” 

He doesn’t think the phrasing of that is fair, but. “Was all me that time, if I’m honest. We’re at a one now though, I’m good.” 

“Is he ?” Don tilts his head. 

Sensei considers. The kid’s not sinking back there just… Curled up, pill-bugging. Radiating furious hurt energy like a solar system all on his own. He’s present enough to tell Sensei to fuck off and focus on Don at least. 

“Think so, yeah. He’s just…” He mimes a snapping maw with his good hand.

Don sighs and rolls his eyes, there’s an edge of anxiety there Sensei can still read as bright as anything. Isn’t that a thought. Twenty years without and this younger Donnie is still under his skin like a part of himself. 

He needs you bud, Sensei tries again, nudging his younger self. 

I’m tired of this , the kid growls back, not-voice cracking all the way through in a way that makes Sensei ache for him. 

Sensei sighs, patting his shell. I know.

Don shifts his weight in front of them, frown deepening as he moves to tap on his wrist guard. Probably texting the family about the general Bad Leo Day, he imagines. He knows how this would go with his Don— the way it would itch at him being unable to instantly resolve whatever problems his brother had. He never dealt well with any mystic issues affecting Mike for the same reasons either. 

There’d always been a thrumming line between them, some unspoken thing; Sensei carried it with him even now, even with the end gone dark. He knows Don’s having a hard time reconciling all the ways ‘Sensei’ is his Leo and is someone entirely different. Managing the fear that his Leo will go somewhere far away inside himself and he’ll only be left with someone he doesn’t know. That he’ll be left alone. 

The worst part about being a twin is when you aren’t one anymore, after all. 

Bad thought. Shit. The pull in the back of his mind grows louder. He holds up a shakier zero. Don’s sharp eyes narrow, tapping something harder on his guard before shifting closer. “Leo?” 

Can you stop being horribly sad for five minutes while looking at my brother? It’s so not helping. 

He shakes his head. “Still me,” the words come out soupy. The kid jabs him angrily somewhere in the back of his brain, uncurled with annoyed concern, which is maybe an unintentional win. 

“Is it— can you ground him?” 

He’s trying; his brain fires unhelpful flashes of the days after. Of the months of searching desperately, of the moment he woke up in the middle of the night with sudden certainty that wherever the other half of himself went, he couldn’t get back on his own. Shit. 

Shit , the kid echoes, less angry with the barely concealed concern. Sensei can feel the dark pit creeping at his arms even as he blinks furiously to stay present. 

“Not him, it’s— sorry, all me again. Don’t think I can stick around.” He squeezes his fist, forces himself to breathe deeper, but it catches somewhere around the middle. The kid slides forward with a flurry of aggrieved panic that sparks through him and sends him back down several flights. There goes that plan. 

Sensei cracks an eye back open and catches a familiar flash in Donnie’s eyes, and yeah— sorry, kid. Lights out. 

The last conversation he remembers having with Don had been about Casey. He was getting to the age where he was asking to follow them out on missions more and more, curious about everything Uncle Tello was up to. He wanted to help, desperately. Itching with the need to be useful in a way they all understood. 

It was different with Casey, though. He knew why it was different.

“We let Mike do this stuff when he was his age,” Leo had said with a sigh. “It’s hard to find good reasons to say no that aren’t just three rounds of my own loud clamoring panic. He should go, he’s trained plenty.” 

Don clicked his goggles, focusing on a project in front of him with a hum. “Mike wasn’t dealing with an apocalypse. He was, at worst, trying to find a new place to tag at Casey Jr’s age, so.” 

“Exactly,” Leo smooths his hand across his head. “But also…” 

Don looks at him, eyes gone big with the layers of lenses so he gets hyper close up patented ‘Tello Eye Roll in high definition. “But also, you’re a mother hen, and he’s talented, and he’ll just sneak out anyways if we keep making him hang back.” 

“Points for you,” Leo sighs again. “Want to make that a daily double?” 

“You remember how Micheal was about being babied,” Don sighs. “So, I don’t know. Let him go on a supply run, something small. A practice version,” Don shrugs, turns back to his work. “There’s that lower activity quadrant we got a ping on last week. I can take him and go get that part we need to fix up the generator.” 

Leo lets out a long breath. “Yeah, that— huh. That could work. He’s always saying he wants to learn more about how to keep things running around here, he’ll be over the moon. Kid asked me last week if I could show him how to do stitches.” 

Don snorts. “Great, soon there’ll be two of you.” 

Leo steps forward, leaning his elbow on Don’s chair to peer over at his desk. There’s a mess of wires in front of him, a plate he’s meticulously soldering ends together on. “Eh, there’s already two of me.” 

“Excuse you,” Don nudges him back with a shoulder. “As the funnier twin, I resent that remark.”

He laughs, lets out a breath. The thrum of Don’s room sometimes settles him, like it’s echoing the place in him where his ninpo sat before. Constant hums of his family flitting through open rooms. 

“You don’t think I’m being paranoid, do you?” Leo has to ask. The variables tripped around each other in hyperspeed in his mind at all times, racing down to the ends of his fingers. Casey’s only thirteen, they’re down too many runners, there’s never any right choices and only Leo to make them.

Don pauses for a second. He flips up his goggles before Leo can wrench the question back into himself, not that it had ever worked before. 

“I’ll keep him safe,” Don says, slowly. “It’s a good call, he’s earned it.” 

“You’re just saying that because it was half your idea.” Leo glances away, embarrassed on some fundamental level that Don had even needed to give him the reassurance. He sighs, squeezes Don’s shoulder quickly as a thank you. Don hums with a smirk. 

“Well? Are you going to teach him? Don’t think we have any oranges to practice on.” The implication rings loudly enough, Casey stitching up real wounds is a foray they haven’t dared make.

Leo waves his hand. “Might be a good idea for the kid to have some medical information in between all the supercomputer nerd things.” 

“Avoiding the question is a bold move.”

Leo deflates, winces. “Yeah. Thought it might make him worry less.” If he could help without leaving the base at all, maybe they’d both relax. A quieter thought, under that: maybe Leo would, if he knew Casey could take care of himself without him. 

Don squints. “It might. Here’s a better thought, his Sensei letting someone else take on the riskier missions for once, hm?” 

Ah, well. 

Leo feigns a wide grin anyways, shrugging. “What can I say, the Krang love me.” 

The arched eyebrow he receives is scathing. He is scathed. He waves his good hand Don’s direction with a huff. “Don’t look at me like that, this is about the kid. Table the psychoanalysis for Mike to take over.” 

“You want Michael to get in on this?”

Good point. He sighs again, shuffling over to a side table and crossing his arms. This is an old argument, the circles of it are worn through and practically scripted. If dear Tello insists, he purses his lips. Round and round they go. 

“I’m faster.”

“Other people are fast enough.” 

“Enough isn’t safe.”

“Letting the Krang learn all your moves is?” 

“Come on, I’ve been fine.” 

The scathing meter ramps up as Don’s eyes pointedly flick to Leo’s robotic arm. “They blast you with enough of their power? How long is that going to be true.” 

“I know how they work.” 

“For fucks sake Leo, the rest of us grew up in the apocalypse too.” 

The rest of you aren’t responsible for it, though , he thinks with all forty old years of packed self directed venom. There’s no point to this conversation, he finds the way out Don wants. 

“Fine. I’ll stay back for the next few, okay? You and Case can do the supply run. April’s been saying she wants to get back out, I can send her with Angel.” 

Don’s steely gaze doesn’t shift, his jaw tense. Usually, this is where the conversation stalls and dies out. World like theirs is lacking in many things, including fuel to burn with. 

“I’m sick of watching you do this,” he spits out, sharp and barbed. It stops Leo up short. 

He nearly says ‘do what’, but he knows his twin. They haven’t gone into any of this since— well, since Raph. Since the mantle of the Resistance became something heavier and lodged in him with anchor weights. Since everyone started looking at him like his plans were god. Since his fuck up ruined everything.

No time for heart to hearts, really.

“Come on, Dee,” he swallows roughly, carefully. “I’m careful. This isn’t about that.” 

“Isn’t it? Isn’t everything you do about that?” 

Leo works his jaw. “It isn’t.”

“When will you stop acting like you have to make up for it, then?” 

Ouch. Leo redirects. “We’re going to win this. It’ll work out, you know it will. I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

Winning the war hasn’t been a tangible thought in his mind in years either; he’s not sure he knows how to do anything but follow the script anymore, though. He hopes he’s putting up a strong enough act.

Don’s hand clenches around his soldering gun, relaxes. “There’s only one you,” he practically growls out, and Leo’s chest squeezes. “If he goes somewhere he takes me with him. Do you get that?” 

He swallows again. “Course I do. I’m not— this isn’t about me, Don. Strategically, until they start catching up to me we have to make them believe I’m their only concern. Promise, that’s all this is.” 

You swear? He almost hears a younger Donnie ask, crouched up in their hideout over Donnie’s gameboy. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, with as much sincerity as he carries with him. He wouldn’t, there’s nowhere else in the world for him to go when everything that matters is right here. 

“You aren’t allowed to pull anything. I’d know if you were,” Don glares. “We need you.” He says it funny, emphasis on both the need and the you all at once, like one of those endless staircase paintings that look different the longer you try to make sense of it. Leo holds up his hands helplessly. 

His twin’s stare pins Leo through for a long moment. He takes the whole half a second of pause to step closer. “Hey, that whole thing— back at you. Obviously.” 

Don lets out a long breath, expression flat and assessing. For a moment, Leo thinks he might say more, but he turns his chair around to continue soldering. 

“Obviously.” 

They’d let the conversation fall lighter, moving to charitable waters. And Leo had let Don take Case out for an easy supply run. 

The last thing his twin ever said to him was lost somewhere behind the distress beacon and the noise of the Krang leveling an entire building on him. He thinks there was a sorry in there, or a be right back to the scared kid he was giving up the world for. 

The part that’s always stung, a burr against his core, is that they never find any sign of where Donnie went. There’s his ninpo, and his bo staff with his fucking mask tied around a bleeding wound on Casey’s arm, the hum of electricity somewhere down the corridors of his mind, and Casey safely bundled and shaking in a propped up section of rubble. His kid is so terrified, asks for Uncle Tello in a quiet whine like he knows.  

He doesn’t remember the mad scramble to get there, the fact that he’d reached so far down into his struggling well of ninpo he’d felt something entirely shatter apart in his hands. The way Mikey had put his own hands over Leo’s, and brought the two of them together all at once. He only remembers the wake of whatever devastation cracks through him once it’s clear they were too late. 

The recording he’d left that Leo couldn’t bring himself to listen to for weeks. 

Leo would know if he died. He would. The light never goes out, but Don never comes home. It’s a loss he can’t name all the same. 

It’s impossible to regather whatever off the cuff words he’d said last, before Don left. Had he said be safe? Had he said he’d loved him? They’d never needed to say it before, but the lack still haunts him. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

‘Be right back’ is a shitty thing to lie about, he thinks wryly.

It’s the first promise he’s ever broken. 

The ache never leaves but there’s no time for grief. He steps outside of himself and into whatever he needs to be, and he chases the corridors in his mind to that safe space Donnie’s ninpo has always rested. The door is closed, but it’s still humming. He doesn’t know what that means. 

“God, stop ,” the kid groans at him. Leo– Sensei blinks back into himself, or— to the place between what constitutes as himself these days. The spot by the tree with just the two of them. “It sucks when it’s you somehow even more than when it’s me.” 

The sludge is still there, distantly. Tugging at him in ebbs and flows. Sensei makes himself breathe out, take a look at the kid. Take stock, soldier. Focus on the problem at hand, deal with your shit somewhere else. 

“Or, here’s a thought: you could deal with your shit at all. Call me crazy, but this ‘shoving all my old man pain in a box and burying it deep down’ thing seems like it’s fucking us both over.” The kid whines, leaning his head back. The irony does not escape either of them, he knows. The Uno reverse is unspoken.

Magnanimously, Sensei lets it slide. 

The kid’s problem is more complicated and knotted somewhere inside himself than he likes to acknowledge, at least Sensei’s is all obvious lines of too-long-losing-wars and grief. It’s all outside. The problem has always been that it’s outside.

Sensei settles beside him, hand on his knees and head tilted up to the still sky. They don’t speak for a long moment, instinctively mimicking the long drawn out grounding breaths in sync. He wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling so strange. Seeing himself from the outside like this, entirely encased in different baggage. It’s hard to think about anything other than ‘he’s so small’, loudly. On repeat. It’s not a helpful thought. 

“Sorry,” Sensei breathes as the sludge lessens minutely along his back. “Should be used to that by now.” 

The kid shrugs. “Is there a way to be used to it?” 

He knows he’s asking for them both. The truest answer feels the most bleak, so he opts for something gentler. 

“I think there has to be a way to think around it at least? Make the brain box bigger. Less likely for the shit in it to hit things.” 

There’s a long sigh beside him. “Sounds exhausting.” 

A long pause. “Would it… help? To talk about it?” 

Man, this little blue. Sensei can’t help the smile that tilts across his heart; he’s so tentative and determined all in one. Still stretching a hand out even though he knows whatever Sensei’s going to say might bowl him right over again. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. I tried once, with my Mike. It’s an old scar anyways.” 

The conversation hadn’t gone anywhere helpful, even with Mikey’s ability to see right inside his brain. They’d both been too tired to argue. 

“I don’t think I could do it,” the kid says, sullenly. Tiredly. He rolls his head to the side to make eye contact with Sensei. “Live without any of them.” 

Yeah , he thinks. He doesn’t say that there hadn’t been much living at all. “You know it's the same for them about you, right?” 

The kid scowls, turns away. “Saying things you don’t mean about yourself seems kinda useless, old man.” 

I mean it about you, though , he thinks. Something twitches in the kid's face. “I had twenty years as the last resort,” Sensei offers. “Changes your perspectives on things.” Or your priorities, really. Whether or not they needed him didn’t change that he was responsible for keeping them alive. 

Or that he’d failed. 

It’s obvious math with the kid anyways. He can see the way the kids brother’s hover, checking in and creeping forward and patiently holding his hand, working constantly to make him feel safe. Twenty years and mires of grief isn’t enough to drown out all the big and small ways he can see how his family loves. 

“What was he like,” the kid turns with a sharper look in his eyes. “Your Don.”

He sighs, lets it roll through him. “Tired.”

He closes his eyes. 

“He was really tired.” 

He’d barely slept, all the way up until the end. Too many defense algorithms to scrub through footage of, supposedly— he wonders now if he should have checked in more. If he should have asked. 

“Yeah,” the kid says, quietly like he doesn’t expect Sensei to hear. “You feel tired a lot, too.” 

Oh . He supposes that’s fair. 

Sensei swallows and imagines the fractured pieces of his heart settling back into their ruins. “It’s funny, he made all the systems in our base use his voice. Had to hear him anytime someone tried to use the microwave. Technically his last words to me were ‘front door compromised’.”

“Yeah. Funny. You ever thought about therapy?”

He doesn’t want to talk about this, it never helps. The rioting part of his core that is four parts missing and agony and one part instinctive need to move forward writhes anytime he lets himself remember any of it at all. As if he does anything other than remember it. 

“Kid—” He exhales. 

The kid turns to face him, frowning with that divot above his brow and his dead set determined set to his beak that screams stubbornness in neon colors. “Listen. I know how— I do the same thing, with my Ang, right? You know, where he doesn’t need all of my… me-ness on top of everything. So tell me the real version, get it out of that slow cooker of a brain so you can stop freaking out every time Don breathes our direction.”

He’s having a weird brain schism, he realizes. The divides between where this kid went and where he himself had walked are so different, sometimes past him feels like a different turtle entirely. A younger one, boiling entirely over with how little he sees himself at all. 

I see you , he thinks, tragically. Pointlessly.  

Sensei breathes out. “There’s not much—” his voice breaks, he clenches his hand around the inexorable pull of that dark space at his edges. The kid sees all of it anyways, doesn’t he? Dancing around it only makes it more his problem, less Sensei’s alone. His throat burns with some memory of tears, it feels silly but the words crawl out of him anyways. “I just. I never got to say goodbye. We never found out if he—” 

But he had to have. It’s so much worse to imagine he had been alive and trapped, that Leo had left him there in that awful world. He had to have been dead because his twin would have broken apart the planet itself to get back to them if he could have. 

His shoulders round forward and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I just, I should have gotten to say goodbye.” 

The kid is silent. A long moment passes. 

Sensei feels a small hand carefully land on his knee. “Sorry.” 

He puts his larger one over the kids, squeezes it. “Nothing for you to be sorry for, kid.” Nothing in this whole wide world. “Whatever my Don was doing, I have to believe he’s with everyone else now.” It makes it manageable, at least. Widens the box in his brain so he can think around it. 

The kid hums thoughtfully. “Can we… I mean, dad talks to our ancestors and things, in the mystic plane, right? He could maybe—” 

Panic wrings through him, ice cold and visceral. Sensei feels the shudder crack through both of them and their tree side hang out waver into darkness. “--right, okay.” The kid gasps. “Bad plan, got it. Noted.” 

“Sorry,” Sensei manages. “I just…” He doesn’t want to know what they think of him. What any of them would say about the world he broke. He knows them, he knows, but he���d been tired for so long before that, and he doesn’t want to know that Don went slowly or painfully. That he’d been waiting for Leo to find him.

Maybe he deserves to know how much he let him down. 

The kid's hand twists, squeezing his back as hard as he can. “Forget it, shit. Grounding, let’s um. Let’s do that and not whatever this is. I hate this, fuck. ” 

They walk through a few start and stop steps, the kids hand tight in his the whole time as they both dig their heels in to stay. It hurts, and Sensei wants to give in. The hand in his keeps him pushing through, cracks through him enough to speak. 

“He, uh,” he clears his non-corporeal throat. “He kept a section of his database specifically for chess games for me. To run on my wrist guard when I couldn’t sleep.” Which was most of the time. Sensei shakes his head. “Kept a file for Mario Party cheat codes, too.” 

The kid stares at the side of his face. Breathing steadier. He can feel it like a brand. “I knew he cheated. Asshole! I knew it.” 

Sensei shrugs, a laugh surprising him as choked off and wobbly as it is. “He rigged up a giant screen once. Told me he was going to come for my crown once and for all, right in front of the entire base. Raph ended up winning.” 

The stare gets more intense. “No.” 

“Swear on my life,” he says. Pauses. “Or, well. My ghost possession afterlife? Don was furious.” 

“Raph never wins at Mario,” he can hear the cogs in the kids' heads freezing in place. Hell has rained ice, pigs have started flying. Raphael, chronically confused at Mario Party mini game rules to a truly fascinating degree, won a video game.

“It’s true,” Sensei laughs. 

“Was it the pity stars?”

“It was the pity stars.” 

“Ah.”

He remembers how hard Mike had laughed at that, just absolute shrieking peels of delight as the rest of his family stared in complete silence. April had needed to drag a completely feral Donnie back to his quarters because Leo ended up crying laughing with him. 

There weren't a lot of those good days after they lost dad. It’s important he holds onto them. It’s important he doesn’t let himself forget even when it’s hard to think about. 

“That’s a relief,” the kid says, leaning back again. “Was starting to think everything about the future was completely and morbidly depressing. Least you had Mario Party.” 

At least they had Mario Party. 

The kid wakes up on his own, Sensei tucked carefully somewhere in the background. There’s a flurry of commotion somewhere out in the hall that sounds a lot like Mikey and Raph, but it’s still and quiet in the med bay. 

Shit, the kid thinks, looking at the clock. It’s definitely been more than a few hours since they fell under. Sensei can see the medical clip on the kid's finger is back in place before he wiggles it off. 

“Number?” Don’s voice cuts in, stern. Flat. Standing with his arms crossed in the corner of the room by his desk. 

They hold up a two after a long moment. “I’m fine,” the kid says. Don’s expression doesn’t change.

“Who am I talking to?” 

The kid groans. “Don’t be like that, Tello. He didn’t mean to. Half of it was me, anyways.” 

Don looks squarely unimpressed, but something eases in the line of his shoulders. Relieved not to be talking with the body snatcher, probably, he gets it. 

“He said he dragged you under, it’s been twelve hours. Am I not supposed to think your parasite is making it worse?” 

He’s not wrong either.

The kid radiates frustration at both of them. “He’s not— Dee. He’s been through a lot. Leave off him, alright? I was pissed off, he got his flip switched. I wasn’t making it easier. I’m doing good, I don’t want to be mad, okay?”

Don’s expression flickers, faltering as it always does around their particular brand of pleading honesty. “Fine, I’m not done talking about this but. Tabled, for now. What do you need.” 

The kid thinks for a minute. Water would be good, Sensei nudges him. 

“Would you talk to him?” The kid says instead, startling both Don and Leo. 

Don recovers first, eyes narrowing. “Why.” 

The kid’s brain is a mess of picture show slides, a strange warped retelling of Sensei’s own memories. It makes him wince, guilt rising thick in his chest. He’s gotta get better at locking that down. 

“Look he— he misses his own Don. It’s not the same thing, but he had a rough night. Just shut up and talk to him.” 

“Oxymoron,” Don and Sensei say in sync. The kid glares. 

Kid, Sensei tries. 

No. Not up for debate. You won’t let me tell Casey? Fine, this is my compromise. I’m tired of playing referee. 

Sensei hates the pang of panic that still lights up in his mind at the thought. The kid lets out a frustrated growl. 

Stop trying to leave! I’m sick of it. What if I— what if I don’t want them to pry you out of here. What then? You gonna sit here in this pissing contest stand off with my Don until we die? 

There’s. A lot to unpack there, and not enough of the kid standing firm enough to do it— the conversations knocked them both back swiftly to a one that’s tenuous at best. Sensei didn’t make it so long as a general without knowing how to pick his battles, anyways. 

If this is what you need from me, okay, he relents. 

The kid’s glare is still hot, assessing. He turns back to himself, to the med room. 

Don’s fussing with his tablet, brows twitching and his hand firmly in Leo’s good one. “‘M here, sorry.” The kid squeezes his twin's hand for them. “Just having a conversation, hard to be both places at once.” 

Don’s jaw shifts. “I will refrain from the comments I desperately want to make.” 

“Noted, file that under an IOU.”

Don rolls his eyes. “Scoff. As if I don’t have a mountain of those already.”  

The affection in the kid is warm and strong as anything. He clears his throat. “What if I… what if I asked him to stay. Sensei. Would you be mad?” 

Sensei shoves his own festering pile of guilt and doubt aside as hard as he can. Don’s expression flattens. “Why would you want to do that.” 

It’s your life, Sensei whispers. 

The kid shakes his head. “Casey needs him.” 

There’s another need underneath it, neither him or the kid acknowledge it directly. 

Don sighs, eyes squinting in the vague pained way of his. “I’m supposed to be okay with someone that is not you, taking you away from us when—” He cuts himself off, breathes out sharply. 

The kid stays silent. 

“Fine. Tabled. Get him out here.” 

Sensei slides forwards, patting the kid on the arm distantly and ignoring his grumble about it. He’s bracing himself— he knows how Dee is, in any version of them. Getting his head chewed off would be the easiest way out. 

“For the record,” Sensei starts, with a faint curve to his mouth. “I agree with you.” 

The kid glares. 

Don arches a brow, crossing his arms. “I don’t…. Like you, being here. I’m not convinced you aren’t impacting him in ways that are halting his progress.” 

Sensei manages a shrug. “You’re probably right. I try really hard to stay out of his way where I can, but. You saw yesterday.” 

Don’s jaw works, terse in every line of his body. Sensei remembers how his Don was before Raph. The way he’d gone along with all of Leo’s plans just inherently trusting that his goal was always to get everyone back out above anything else. The way he’d shifted. Their last conversation had been a lot of sharp lines like this; something adjacent to doubt. It still burns, funnily enough, even from a sixteen year old version of his twin who doesn’t know subtlety at all. 

“If I told you I had figured out how to rip you out of him without injuring Leo at all, would you fight me?” 

Sensei nearly laughs, I’d thank you, he tries not to think. “No,” he says with a stronger lilting smile. “I’d just ask that you do it before Case realizes I’m here. He doesn’t need that.” 

Something in Don’s face shifts. “When Leo says you’ve been through a lot, what does that mean.” 

“Ah,” Sensei huffs. “Maybe not a conversation for right now—” He can feel the daggers of the kid’s ire, nonetheless. Sighs. “Krang won where I’m from, Case probably mentioned.”

“And that means?”

He winces. “A lot of things that are hard to remember, mostly.” 

Don’s gaze is assessing. He types something onto his wrist guard. “Any triggers I should know about?” 

You. Raph. Dad. He breathes out. Shakes his head. 

“Fine. Bring him back, please.” 

The kid’s eye roll is something fierce internally, externally it’s too much effort to muster. “Dee. That was barely anything.” 

Don shrugs. “I talked to him, didn’t I?” 

It’s fine , Sensei reassures him. He means that it wouldn’t help, not with the hole that’s been carved in him for years. 

There’s nothing at all in the world for what he’s missing. He should just be better at it. The missing. 

Something stubborn lights up in the kid, a spark he doesn’t think he’s seen in the younger turtle since they crash landed together. Fuck this. 

“Can I ask you something and have you promise you won’t get mad?” 

Don’s brow twitches. “I’m not promising shit.” 

A pause. “Say it anyways.” 

“If you went somewhere,” the kid starts, and his voice shakes like a nervous glance over his shoulder. Sensei tenses immediately. “If you went somewhere, and you didn’t know how to come back. What would you do?” 

Don’t , Sensei thinks, helplessly.

“Wouldn’t happen,” Don says. Not a moment of hesitation. “I wouldn’t let it happen.” 

“What if you didn’t have a choice?” The kid asks. 

He has to imagine his Don didn’t have a choice either, clings to it with everything in him. He didn’t know the kid had seen that, the wilful refusal to believe in any world where the other half of himself would walk away on purpose.

He doesn’t know the expression on Don’s face. He’s seen it before, at the planning table. After missions. He’s never known what it meant. “I’d come back,” Don says, like it’s obvious. 

This younger version of his brother, some spun off worried and sideways Donnie, leans forward and pokes the kid as carefully as he can in the center of his chest. 

“If I still exist, in any universe, I’d be coming back.” 

Sensei swallows. He remembers this; that simple constant of trust, of knowing half himself sat between his ribs and the other behind a desk with a computer screen. He remembers believing it, too.

There’s a hallway in his mind that he goes to, where his ninpo once lived and breathed. A living room where he kept all the lights on. There’d been a time where all the rooms and all the doors had been flung wide open. They’ve been shut for years now. 

“If you didn’t?” The kid asks, voice small. 

Sensei walks through the empty room, hand trailing against the wall of his mind. He hasn’t visited this door, hasn’t been able to think about it around the hurt in him. He presses his forehead to the wood of it, now. 

“If I’m gone, it would never be forever. You’d just have to wait longer.” 

In his dreams, or at least where he goes when the kid is sleeping, the door is warm. 

He sits himself against it, and pretends it's the same as the door being open. To feel his brother existing here at all. 

Sometimes he thinks he can almost hear someone knocking back. 

[meekahy]

Insomnia

Sorry it's short! It's cute and if you haven't seen Hot Fuzz, you should. Classic.

It was 3am, you tossed and turned. Quinn was fast asleep. Or you thought he was until he grabbed your hip, preventing you to turn over again. 

“Baby, stop turning. Just come here,” he mumbled into your hair as he pulled you ontop of him. He started to rub circles on your back as you laid your head on his chest.

“Quinny, I just can’t sleep,” you groaned, flicking a piece of lint off his shirt.

“I know, you have been turning over and over for hours. Why don’t we get up and watch a movie on the couch? I’ll make you some tea,” Quinn suggested as he trailed his fingers across your cheek.

“That sounds like a good idea,” you smiled. Quinn pulled himself from your grasp as he made his way into the kitchen to turn on the kettle so you could have tea.

“Honey, what kind of tea do you want?” He yelled from the kitchen.

“Hmm, maybe hibiscus peach? Or sleepytime?” you wondered as you walked over to his side and let your hand rub up and down his back. 

“Sleepytime,” Quinn confirmed, laughing, “you’ve barely slept.”

“Smart boy,” you cooed as you smiled at him. He looked so sleepy. He had a game that night and with you rustling in your sleep, he wasn’t able to sleep either.

He grabbed a mug and the tea and turned toward you while you both waited for the kettle to whistle. 

“I’m sorry you can’t get any slep because of me,” you whispered as Quinn’s arms wrapped around your waist. You slipped your arms around his shoulders in response.

“Oh, that’s okay. It just means I have more time to spend with you,” he said before placing a small kiss to the tip of your nose. You tugged on the collar of his tshirt and pulled him in for a kiss. His hands still on your waist, he deepened the kiss. After a few minutes of feeling him on your lips. You jolted, breaking the kiss as the kettle whistled loudly.

Quinn laughed at your reaction, loosening his grasp on you to tend to your tea. He poured the hot water into your cup. “Do you want honey?” he questioned, moving towards the cabinets. 

“Yes, please,” you sang as he poured drained some honey into the tea. Quinn handed you your tea and guided you into the living room. Carefully carrying your tea down the hall, you managed not to spill the hot liquid.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Quinn asked as he plopped himself on the couch, arm out, waiting for you to snuggle up next to him.

Sitting right next to him, you pondered as you sipped from your tea. “How about Hot Fuzz?” you asked.

“Oh, hell yeah,” he exclaimed as his arm snaked around your shoulders. He picked up the remote and put on Hot Fuzz. It was one of your favorite movies. You quote it a lot and hopefully knowing the storyline will get you sleepy.

“What’s the matter, Danny? Never taken a shortcut before?” Sergeant Angel asked Danny before jumping the fence and doing a flip. Danny being amazed, tried to do the same before slamming right through the fence, receiving a belly laugh from the both of you.

“God, I love this movie,” you mumbled to Quinn as you finish the last of your tea, setting the cup down on the coffee table and snuggling into Quinn’s side even more.

“Yarp,” Quinn replied making you cackle. This movie is pure gold humor. Near the end of the movie, Quinn noticed your head on his shoulder and you not laughing to the funny parts of the movie.

“Babe?” he whispered into your ear. With no response, he turned off the movie and carefully picked you up bridal style and laid you down on the bed. He climbed back into bed and pulled you close. Quinn placed a kiss on your hair before closing his eyes and falling asleep as well.

[yandecifi]

What It Means to Be Made of Stardust

☆ chapter eight

⋆ masterlist

⋆ cw: child abuse, sa, mental illness

hawks/reader, psychological, wip longfic

There are days you spend sitting outside your apartment door, school bag at your side, leaning against the concrete walls. Or maybe you’re laying on your stomach as you work on your homework, legs kicking in the air, elbows perching you up and scraping against the ground. Your neighbors walk past occasionally. Some say hi, some glance at you and turn away.

Dad asks you what you’re doing, laying on the ground outside his apartment, because it’s weird. It’s embarrassing. What’s he doing letting his kid roll around outside with all the neighbors watching? They’ll judge him and think he’s a bad father. And, what, do you hate him or something? Why can’t you just sit inside like somebody normal, talk to him, ask him how his day was? You’re so thoughtless, so rude. Why’s he been given a child like you?

You sit at the dinner table with your homework spread out. Your knees knock together as they jostle, your blood is fizzing up like soda. Dad wanders through the kitchen.

“I love you, you know that?”

“Uh-huh.”

Dad pulls something out of the fridge. A beer, probably, but the air has turned sour. The words on your homework start to fuzz.

“You know what that means?”

“Um, haha, maybe.”

“I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to go through what I have, I’m not going to do to you what my parents did to me.”

“I - um, okay.”

He’s silent for a beat. Your fingers tremble, your knees still, you can’t even swallow.

“And, you don’t know this yet,” he starts again, “but most people don’t mean it like I do. To other people, throughout my life, it means -- it means, ‘I want something from you, and saying I love you is how I’ll get it’. You haven’t experienced that, so you don’t get it, I know -- but you’ll meet people like that. Most people are like that.”

“Can I just do my homework?”

It’s quiet except for the buzzing in your head.

And then, Dad slams his hands on the kitchen countertop and the whole thing snaps like a taut rubber band — you’re jumping up and bolting out the door. It’s only a moment before he’s on your heels, skidding around the corners of the apartment stairwell with you, shouting and screaming at you from the parking lot.

But you’re already halfway to the moon, the air hot in your lungs, your feet a blur beneath you. Moments like these are the closest you can get to flying — when you’re running who knows where, too fast for him to catch.

Your favorite nights were spent outside with stolen chips and coke. The grin you had sitting on some bench and popping those cans open, licking the salt from your fingers, was bigger than any bruise.

☆

The sky is blue.

You’re laying in the grass with your classmates. It’s one of campus’s many lawns, all well kept and green despite winter creeping in. Grass tickles your arms and ankles with every twitch. It smells freshly cut. Your jeans are probably stained green.

It’s Mina and the rest of her usual group that’s sitting with you. They’re sitting in a circle, cross-legged and yapping. They’re eating fast food: neon slushies and tacos. You snorted your pain meds.

Clouds float far above you and yet you’re right there with them. You reach your hand out and grab at them.

“Girl, you tryna be all main character or something?”

You roll your head over at Mina and her friends. Mina grins down at you between bites and slurps. Bakugo’s glaring at you. Kirishima doesn’t meet your eye. Denki keeps talking with Sero like you aren’t there.

You roll right on back to the sky.

“Girl?”

“Mhm?”

“Where’ve you been, lately?”

“Living with Aizawa.”

“I -- yeah, I know. I mean, like, ummm, even when you’re with us, you’re not.”

“Uhhhhh.” You shut your eyes as you force yourself to sit up. Your brain feels full of blood, hot, sloshing. Everything tingles. You rub your face. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Oh. Want some of my baja?”

“No, no. Thanks, though.” The grass is spray paint green. You blink. “The sky is really pretty.”

Mina giggles like she always does, eyes crinkling up in the corners, cheeks round and strained with her smile. You’ve never met anybody as happy as her. She has to be lying.

“It’s even prettier with some baja and tacos!”

You stare at the chemically colored slush in her hand. It’s as stupidly green as the grass. You lean over and slurp from the straw. The cold meets your tongue and it tingles, weirdly enough. You swallow and lay back down and you smile.

“That tasted like chemicals, Mina.”

“Bitch, be so for fucking real. I’ve seen you take edibles like they’re candy. And I’m not even gonna start with the drunk vaping.”

“Okay, okay.” You swat Mina’s offering of more baja away. “It definitely tasted better than any edible I’ve had.”

“Damn straight.”

Mina shuffles over to you and then collapses in the grass at your side, joining you in cloud gazing. She sluuuurps.

You side eye Mina. She notices. You grin. She grins. She wriggles closer until you’re both practically touching noses.

“What?” She whispers, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I snorted my meds,” you whisper back.

Mina blinks. She opens her mouth to say something. She closes it. Her smile falters. She looks away. She looks back at you. Her face contorts in confusion and she sits up a little.

“You what?”

You remain very still. “I’m joking.”

“No the fuck you aren’t.”

“I am.”

“Show me your eyes.”

“No.”

“Show me --”

“No!”

“If you don’t --”

“No!”

“Fine!”

Mina lays back down with a huff, arms crossed. The boys are staring at the two of you. You flip them off. They all exchange glances and Mina yanks your arm down.

“Girl, what?” Mina turns so that the two of you are nose-to-nose again. You smile. “Weed, getting drunk, and the occasional pen is one thing. Snorting random pills is another. What were you thinking? How much did you take?”

“They’re not random, I was prescribed them --”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Sorry.” You swallow. “I don’t know, I just crushed one of the pills on my desk and snorted it. I don’t know why.”

“Nobody does shit like that just because. Why?”

“I really, honestly don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see if things would change.”

“The stuff with your Dad?”

“No, I mean, I know nothing’s changing that. I just mean… I don’t know.”

“Your depression?”

You squint. The pamphlet and the conversation in her room flashes through your mind.

“I guess? I’m not, like, diagnosed with that, though.”

“I feel like we’re past that point.”

“I don’t know.” You find yourself staring into her eyes, searching, looking at the person there. This one is new. “I’m sorry.”

Mina gives you something like a smile. She doesn’t look right unhappy.

“It’s okay. Just know I’m always here to talk, okay? And can you please promise me you won’t mess with your meds again? I’ll literally buy you alc if you don’t.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Her eyes are pretty like amber in the sunlight. “You don’t have to buy me alc.”

Mina lays on top of you in a dogpile-esque hug. You wrap your arms around her torso and, despite feeling like you’re being crushed, you also feel like you’re being loved. The two often seem to be intertwined.

“Mina?”

“Yeah?”

“I just feel like I’m in some sort of limbo.”

“What? Like, the game?”

“No, what?” You laugh and she moves with your chest. “Like the space between heaven and hell. But like it’s not Earth.”

“...”

“Like where ghosts are? I’m wherever the ghosts are.”

“Okay.” She raises her head to look at you. “Do you mean this as in wanting to…?”

“No, no, not like that! I’m just in some kind of in between. I’m stuck.”

“You don’t feel real?”

You blink. “Yeah.”

Kirishima all of a sudden jumps up and starts screaming and waving at somebody. You and Mina sit up to see Aizawa on the sidewalk a little ways away, a group of first years on his heels.

“Oh. I thought he didn’t come to campus on weekends?” Mina slides off of you to sit properly, watching your teacher all the while.

“He’s the chaperone for the martial arts club.”

Aizawa waves at all of you. You fester.

-------------------------------------

Leaning against the hood of Aizawa’s car, you realize you don’t know how you got here.

You zip your jacket up to your chin, burrow yourself in it. You want to drink something. Or smoke. Or sleep.

“Had a picnic with your friends?”

Aizawa strolls up to you with his own jacket on, black and baggy. You hop up, stare at the zipper, the wrinkles.

The wind bites at your cheeks and you fidget with the hood you’re wearing to cover the st--

“Did you have fun?” Aizawa blinks at you from beneath his mess of hair.

You murmur something in the affirmative.

Aizawa nods slowly, like he’s going to say more. He doesn’t. You both get in the car.

When the two of you get to his house, Aizawa makes tea. He asks you to sit down at the dinner table and if you like English breakfast. He’s not really asking.

When your teacher sits next to you, fragrant black swirling in both your mugs, you start to huff uncomfortably. Your skin is too tight around your throat. Aizawa clears his own.

“How are your sessions with Hound Dog?”

You shrug, rub your neck, stare at your lap.

“Do they help,” he elaborates, pushing, staring, “at all?”

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

You cross your arms. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“The truth. Be honest.”

He says it like it’s easy.

Something touches your feet from beneath the table. You lean back and it’s Kitty skulking about, tail slithering past your ankle.

“Oh, he likes you.” Aizawa chuckles. “How unusual.”

You stare at your teacher while he watches Kitty. The blemishes, wrinkles, and scars on his face, the beard he can’t seem to grow nor get rid of, the smile you’ve hardly seen in your three years of knowing him. His eyes flick to yours. You take a sip of tea.

“Principal Nedzu informed me of his decision regarding your enrollment.”

You shift in your seat. “Okay.”

“Because you can’t keep up with tuition for the foreseeable future, we’ve decided to drop you as a student for the time being.” Aizawa says, careful, all sugar coated and pretty. “There are scholarships we have that can help cover the costs, but your grades aren’t within the competitive range.”

You can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore. It’s just the crumbling.

“My recommendation is to work through your current situation and health issues before continuing with herowork.”

Your current situation? Your health issues? This situation is your entire life. Your ‘health’ issues are ingrained in you as deeply as the ability to walk or breathe.

You turn eighteen in a couple of months and Aizawa won’t have to house you anymore. Then again, that might not end up being a problem.

“What if my Dad gets let out?” You try, palming your cup of tea. “I’ll get him to pay for it. I will.”

Aizawa leans forward in his seat. “As far as I can tell, he’s going to go to prison. They have witnesses and the evidence is all there. And the fact you’re about to turn into an adult means they’re not worried about displacing a child.”

Your neighbors called the cops with every other screaming match you had and all you ever got out of it was a beating. You went to school smelling like garbage, you slept outside, you had bruises. Does anybody know how badly you wanted somebody to just say something back then? Why didn’t they? Why now?

You already moved on. You were fine, you were handling everything fine, you had a fucking life for once, you were making something of yourself despite everything. You did this all yourself. This was yours, not your father’s, and they’re still taking it away from you.

You stare at your palms, the calluses, the scars.

“But, it’s not my fault.”

Aizawa’s as surreal and still as always. “I know.”

Your skin prickles with the black outside that broad, glass wall. The chair you’re sitting in creaks as you lean back in it, a lump in your throat. Your fingers tap on the table, quick. You watch them drum like little soldiers, like rain.

☆

Your dorm is empty except for your desk, bed, and chair.

You stuffed your bedsheets into yet another trash bag. You threw all your clothes into two others. Everything else, all your knick-knacks and snacks and school stuff, are jumbled together in the garbage bag you’re hauling towards the dumpster. Is your vomit still there, or has a week already gone by?

Every night on Aizawa’s couch, you wake up to your father’s footsteps. When you hone in on the sound, you hear him muttering. You shut your eyes tight and tell yourself it’s not real, but what if it is? You told yourself the same thing when it was.

You throw your garbage into the dumpster and something shatters. You turn around and walk away.

It’s the weekend and Mina and her friends are nowhere to be found. You’d usually bump into them in the elevator by now, or the commons, or by walking around campus, or they’d come find you -- but today there’s nothing. You haven’t told them you’re leaving yet.

They’ve been talking about you, you’re certain of it. Every time you meet up with them they give each other odd looks or sneak glances at you like there’s something on your face. Hawks was right.

You drag the rest of your shit from your dorm to the elevator. You press the first floor and wait as you travel down, down, down. The doors open. You hold one trash bag in each hand and kick the final one out the elevator and into the commons, keep kicking it forward every couple of steps. So, this is what all of your efforts have come to.

You kick the bag through the front door. The star Altair is seventeen light years away, which means you’re still in the womb there, that nothing bad has happened to you.

You kick the bag down the steps. Your mother’s in the air, somewhere, and even then you’ve probably never breathed her.

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. People take parts of you and then leave to places where you can’t find them.

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. Why couldn’t the two of you have had just one more meaningless conversation?

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. Does she think about you when she folds her clothes?

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. It’s about the oranges she peeled for you.

You kick the bag down the sidewalk. She never even told you why.

“Fuck’re you doing?”

You jerk your head up to see Bakugo standing in front of you, narrowed eyes flitting from each trash bag to your crumpled face.

“Taking out the trash.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Can you just leave me alone?” You snap, making your way around him with some extra kicks. He turns to watch you do each one.

“What, did you dismember someone or something?” Bakugo snatches the bag from your feet, falling into step with you.

“No.” You trudge along, trash bags swinging awkwardly in your hands. “I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, well, you looked retarded.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I think the retards out there would give me a pass if they saw you.”

“Bakugo!” You laugh, the urge to smack him on the arm squashed by your bags. “Seriously?”

He cracks a smile. “What? It’s true.”

You sigh. “Where is everybody?”

“Ramen.” Bakugo looks at you funny. “It’s Sunday.”

You stare at him before snapping your gaze back to your feet. “Right.”

“You really need to start coming to those.”

You count cracks in the concrete. “You’re here, too.”

“I don’t skip every week, idiot.” He looks around. “We’re going to the parking lot?”

“Uh, yeah.” You jog down the steps leading to the lot, walk along the sidewalk until you reach Aizawa’s car. “You can go.”

Bakugo sets your trash bag down on the ground. “Isn’t that Mr. Aizawa’s car?”

“Who knows.” You put your bags down as well, sit on the curb. “Thanks for carrying my bag.”

Bakugo stands there for a moment. Then, he opens the bag he was carrying, rummages through it.

“What the fuck?” He pulls out one of your shirts and holds it out to you, like he needs to show you the evidence. “You’re moving out?”

You hug your knees to your chest, rest your chin on them.

“Hello? Can I get a fucking answer?”

“Yeah, I fucking am, alright? I’m dropping out.”

Bakugo gawks at you. Like, genuinely, mouth open and brows pinched like you told him to go kill himself.

He swings his arms in loud gestures. “Fuck you mean, dropping out? We graduate in two months!”

“Yeah, I know.” Your jaw clenches. Your brain is thick with something, slime, soju. “I don’t have a choice, okay? My Dad’s gonna go to jail, I can’t afford tuition anymore.”

“They have scholarships, mine’s basically full-ride—”

“Okay, good for fucking you!”

You shift uncomfortably on the curb. A peek at Bakugo shows he’s standing there with clenched fists, feet shifting.

“What is it with you?” He grinds out. “You flip like a goddamn switch. You’re sweet as hell one second, having me thinking I’m okay with rotting my teeth off, and then you act like you can’t stand me. You act like we didn’t make out for two hours and spend the night in your room ‘cuz you begged me not to leave.”

You’re going to rip out your esophagus.

“I was drunk.” It’s creeping up your shoulders, going up your shirt. “I—“ Your brow pinches— “I was drunk.”

“Oh, fuck off, you were tipsy at most.”

“So what?” You glare up at him. Something isn’t right. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Bakugo’s nose wrinkles. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, I am.” Something isn’t right. “What, you think I’m easy or something?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about! I mean, you tried to get with me the day after I got out of the hospital, like, are you fucking for real?”

“I wasn’t trying anything, you came onto me!”

“Oh, shut up! Just go make one of your fucking smoothies or something.”

Something isn’t right. You huff. Bakugo’s nostrils flare as he stomps towards you, crouches to your level, and grips you by the shoulders.

It’s loud, blaring, and riddled with curses. His fingers are bruising. You frown, shake your head, shake and shake.

You were drunk. But, you’d already told yourself that that didn’t matter, didn’t you?

Glass shatters and you shriek. You cover your face, drop to your knees, but Aizawa is already helping you up.

Something isn’t right. You’re standing with Aizawa in his kitchen. Eri is hiding behind the dinner table.

The glass crunches beneath your feet as you take a step back. Aizawa winces, urges you to calm down, but what if this is like the sounds you hear at night?

Is any of this real? Was that a dream? Is this a dream? What if you’re still bleeding out in the stairwell?

Eri isn’t behind the table anymore. You’re lying on the couch with a blanket over you, the TV flashing with Sailor Moon. Instead of your father’s footsteps, Hawks retches from the next room over.

[littleracha]

Hi this is my first time ever asking for a request so I’m sorry if this is bad :( when I’m in my headspace (1-4 years old) I sometimes get scared and emotional on my periods and even have accidents. I know this is really embarrassing so I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. Could you do cg!chan x little!fem reader. Basically just a lot of fluff of him taking care of little me 🥺

Hello, my little ducky friend!

I'm so honored to be your first request, you did great sweetie! I understand just how hard periods can be so don't worry! Sorry, this took so long for me to get to.

Warnings: mentions of periods and blood

Chan woke up and went about his morning as usual. He made himself a small breakfast and protein shake before going to the home gym for his morning workout. Once he completed his reps for the day he made his way to the shared bedroom. He couldn't help but coo at how peaceful you looked. He felt you get in and out of bed a few times last night so he was glad that you got any sleep at all. You did look a little pale compared to your normal self but he didn't give it much thought. Chris made his way into the bathroom and started the shower. He doesn't know what made him look but he was glad he did. Halfway hidden in the waste bin was your underwear with a bloodstain. It all made sense to him now, his poor baby needed him. A quick shower would have to do for now.

Once dried off and changed Chan made his way to slowly wake you. When your pretty eyes fluttered open he could see a glint of sorrow. Behind it thought was a little flicker of joy, he just needed to bring it out.

"Good morning little pup, let's go get something to eat sweetie" You were confused by Chan's instant CG headspace but you wouldn't deny the fuzz in your brain felt nice. You nodded and sat up for him. When he helped you out of bed he saw a small red stain on the bed, when he checked he saw it matched the one on the back of your sleep shorts.

"Hey little one, it is really cold out today so Daddy thinks you should wear something warmer" He used a calm and natural voice so as to not alert you to the true reason he was now helping you change. Once you were as snug as a bug, Channie picked you up and carried you downstairs on his hip. He sat you down in your chair at the kitchen counter so you could watch him make breakfast. Of course, chocolate chip smiley face pancakes were on the menu today. He wishes he recorded the giggle that left you when you saw the crooked smile made from whip cream. He sat back and watched you dig in. Good thing he remembered to have a damp towel on hand to wash your now sticky face.

"Baby, if Daddy gives you some chocolate milk will you take some medicine for him" He cooed softly. Why would he want you to take medicine? Did he know? Oh no how did he know? Chan saw the reality of the big world coming back into your eyes and jumped into action.

"Shhhhh baby no it's okay! Come here love bug, Daddy didn't mean to upset you! It's okay Daddy is here. He is right here. Let Daddy take care of his sweet little one" He held you close and you sunk further into your regression. When he felt your tight grip on his shirt go limp he smiled. He pulled back and saw the brightest and biggest eyes on the planet.

Like a good little one, you took your medicine and were rewarded with over-the-top cartoonish kisses all over your face. Chan ushered you to the living room couch and turned on the Care Bears movie for you. He snuck off while you were distracted by all the pretty colors to change your sheets. He grabbed your favorite heated stuffie and warmed it up. He checked to make sure it wasn't too hot before returning to you.

"Daddy! Grumpy Bear and Sunshine Bear are going on an adventure!" He couldn't help the smile on his face. He settled down next to you and pulled you into him. Chan placed the warm stuffie into your lap and watched you curl into it.

"Yeah, little pup? Tell Daddy more!"

[gepperl]

TRANS MALE PASSING PROTIPS

Targeted specifically at trans men who have not begun medical transition, but for anyone. Of course, this is just what works for me and everyone is different.

Shorts that fall mid thigh and are baggy can work really well to make a more masculine figure. This is a trendy style with cis men, and if they are looser on your thighs you can look more rectangular. Basketball shorts are always fine, but for bigger people can end up sticking to your thighs and making you look like a masc lesbian. Looking like a masc lesbian is so so common guys this is what we are trying to avoid. See here for reference

2. WALK WITH YOUR SHOULDERS. Walk like your shoulders are the widest part of your body. Move them kinda forward and backward. Watch a video of a man walking next to a woman for context on what I mean. Women walk with their hips, and it makes all the difference for you in someone's head. Practice in the mirror before doing it so you don't look like a fool.

3. Hair!!!! I know you guys don't want to let go of the 2020 fluffy boi haircut and that is ok. If you don't want a skin fade short haircut, there are other options. Also, if you belong to a subculture, like punk/emo/whatever else there is, look at male styles as it can be very different than what is normally accepted ( for example, men have long hair in metal subculture, you can style it like them). In general, hair is very meticulous, as for some people too short is masc lesbian and too long is woman.

This kind of hair can do wonders. For men of color/curly hair people, if you are not out locs are a very good option as they are typically read as masculine but are gender neutral. Afros, braids, even skin fades with a lot of hair at the top can read feminine. Another style option could be short cornrows that end at the neck, twists, or a fade with less hair at the top like this.

I am not black, so I cannot speak for how this would be read in a black community, but this is how, from my experience, I would view the hairstyles. Sorry if this is not appropriate. Also, I am not here to tell you not to dye your hair. It can work if you style it with masculine clothes and are dressed in a specific style like emo or scene or something. Do what you will with that.

4. If there is ANY peach fuzz on your face, make the most of it. I know I have high testosterone levels naturally, so I grow facial hair a little, but if there is enough to dye it, dye it. If there is like barely any, if its not visible in the mirror if you're really looking (not INSPECTING), it's probably not worth it, and that is fine. use your judgement, and if it is not enough, just shave it. It's better to look clean shaven than desperate for face hair. Eyebrows, mustache hair, sideburns can all be darkened with eyeshadow, brow brushes, and just for men beard dye.

5. LAYERS. I know you guys have seen this one before. Flannels, button ups over black t-shirts, zip up hoodies. It might get a little hot, but it covers your sweat stains anyways. I promise guys it helps so much with shoulders, hips, boobs, it makes you look more masculine. Don't get that ugly ass red and black checkered one though. Think if you would see a masc lesbian wearing it and use your best judgement. I heart layers.

6. Pants. Woah. Pants. I HATE pants I know you fat trans men get me. Old navy women's jeans...and you guys won't like this one...are actually pretty good. SPECIFICALLY the sky high wide leg ones. Get those a size up and cuff them, wear them low on your waist, perfect. Other than that, jeans are shit. I don't really waste my time with men's pants anymore because of my hips but cargos are great, baggy sweats with the band at the bottom are great, PJ pants good, dress pants are a struggle but I've heard dickies work well for people with a smaller body. Not sure though. My tactic is I go to a thrift store for hours and try on all their pants, then find similar ones online or take pictures of the brand for the ones I like and find more.

7. Accessories and jewelry. Iffy. Anything you could describe as dainty, if it's not a family thing or important to you, probably not. Friendship bracelets are good, pendants are good, earrings depends on where you are and what you are wearing. Studs in men are common where I am, so I wear them. Observe the cis men at your disposal. Accessories, bags don't really matter unless they're like the strawberry hot topic mini bags. Don't get those at all those are fugly. Mini bags are not great in general, just better to get something else. Watches are heavily loved here they look very male and also you have the time always even a cheap watch is fine just not a woman's watch. It has to be a men's watch. You can tell when it is a woman's watch don't get those. Nail polish is fine no one cares, it's more popular now with boys. Especially if you're a little girly pop already. Of course that also depends on your environment.

8. Stance. Sitting with your ankle on your knee is comfortable and way more masculine than crossing your legs. Confidence. Fake it until you make it because cis men are so arrogant guys. This is what I mean btw

9. Don't be afraid of being feminine. Don't give up being yourself in order to be masculine. Your happiness matters the most. Love you bye, I'll update this if I think of anything else.

[queenklu]

k-drama reclist!

Hello! While most recent fic is off to the betas and I’m waiting for new inspiration to strike, I thought I would write a love letter to all some of the best shows that have touched my heart this last year or so. As always, these rulings are 100% factual and correct, and categories include such necessary requirements as Is It Gay?, Blorbo Squad,  and Does the boy cry?

Tale of the Nine-Tailed

Plot: Producer of an urban supernatural tv show with ZERO CHILL keeps finding herself running into Actual Supernatural Beings who mostly try to eat her, except for the weirdest of all, a Nine-Tailed fox who’s working off his debt to the underworld and mostly moping about the death of his long lost love. The first half of this show feels like early spn in the BEST way, and the second half genuinely ruined me for most tv romances. Chemistry? Off the charts. Is it gay? No, but the het romance is so fucking good I forgive it. Do the boy cry? Y E S. Did not realize how starved for Men Feeling Emotions I was until I started watching asian shows, jfc. Women? multifaceted bamfs. Blorbo squad? Yes we ARE actually going to adopt his evil brother kicking and screaming and he will just have to feel some feelings about it. Music? I’m not joking when I say that half of my spotify top ten were songs from this soundtrack. Rewatchability? I’ve watched it twice and would watch again.

Beyond Evil

Plot: What’s a word for someone who’s SO outta fucks to give that he’s totally fine being suspected of his sister’s murder again because at this point it’s funny? That’s Lee Dongsik, a Been There Done That Detective who’s been kicked back to his shitty home town, which immediately starts popping up murders exactly like his sister’s from 20 years ago! And who should come on the scene but Starving For Affection Being Right Detective Han Juwon who is here to FIND ANSWERS!!(TM!)! Though mostly his methods seem to be marching up to potential murderers and begging them to confess. Anyway this show is a fucking DELIGHT of twists, turns, out-loud gasps, and sizzling hot Will-They-Won’t-They(Arrest Each Other For Murder). Is it gay? MMMMMMYES. Look at that gif! Are they gonna fight? Fuck? Who knows, least of all them! Do the boys cry? mueheheheheheeeeee. multiple times. in the rain. DELIGHTFUL. Women? Multi. Dimensional. What a concept!! No useless love interests! Will fuck you up and egg your car! Blorbo Squad. A+++ food family, work family, fucked up misfits who are going to get each other through this if it kills them. Additional notes: someone on the internet described this show as Hannibal (without cannibalism) + Hot Fuzz, and that is...not inaccurate.

Crash Landing on You

Plot: When Mega Rich Design CEO Seri accidentally parachutes into North Korea, and is somewhat reluctantly rescued and hidden by an army officer and his squad of blorbos soldiers. This is a really fascinating glimpse into the differences of North and South (and from what the internet says, former North Koreans agree that the depictions are pretty spot-on) and all the ways people are just...people, when it comes down to it. Chemistry? Phenomenal. A slow blossoming of two people who have been injured in very different ways and the ways they can grow together despite increasing difficulties. Blorbos? The best. I miss them. The genuine delight I feel seeing any of these actors again in other shows cannot be expressed. Music? I mean, FUCK, the music is its own character, own plot device, own heartbreak. FUCK. Rewatchability: I’ve watched it twice and I want to watch it again RIGHT NOW. Additional notes: Court Lady Choi AND the King from Mr. Queen are in this show!! MY LOVES!

Tomorrow

Plot: Desperately unemployed millennial accidentally falls off a bridge and winds up in a coma, where he strikes a deal: join the “elite” Grim Reaper Squad trying to prevent suicides, and he’ll get out of his coma faster! WARNING: Because this show deals with suicides in all shapes and forms, this show is not going to be right for everyone. ALSO, because our team leader is going through some shit on her own, I would argue that the first suicide attempt she handles is Not Great. However, she does learn and they all get better together. Do the boys cry? Yes, even the Big Bad (who I think would especially appeal to a certain demographic of tumblr seeing as he looks like a Korean Kylo Ren). Chemistry? BDE (Big Divorce Energy). Women? GOOOOODDD IS A WOOOOMANNN. Also, the women in this are allowed to make bad decisions! Blorbos? Kinda weird that our own entry character into this behind the scenes world winds up as more a blorbo than a main character. This isn’t a complaint, I love him and love seeing this actor again from The King’s Affection. Our giant puppy man WILL make friends with everyone, and that’s a fact. Additional notes: This show is both a good watch and a hard watch. Make sure you’re hydrated and have tissues on hand, especially for ep 9 which fails Does The Dog Die.

Other shows that I have feelings about (but maybe not wholly good feelings) below the cut:

Vincenzo: stunning cinematography, great writing, great blorbos, //absolutely NO chemistry between himself and the leading lady.// It sure says something when the lead male has better a better chance of romance with the leading lady’s dad. For all that, though, the Big Bads were fantastic, the fight scenes were stunning, and the character arc of Vincenzo and his mom was where the actors in this really shone. 9/10

The Devil Judge: I wanted to like this show. The first half was really solid, deliciously gay, and full of found family. But none of the characters actually...grew? Or changed? Ultimately unsatisfying. 6/10

Crowned Clown: STUNNING, PHENOMENAL acting. Prince and the Pauper if the Prince was also a fucking psychopath. Absolutely riveting for nearly all of it, but the last episode works too hard to shoehorn the story back into plausible historical fiction, and it loses a lot of impact for it. Yeo Jin-goo (also from Beyond Evil, Hotel Del Luna) REALLY flexes all of his astounding acting muscles in this and pulls off the coin flip of both characters flawlessly. TW: for rape of a young teen, near rape of the queen. 9/10

Hotel Del Luna: Since I mentioned it above, there was one point where I was watching HdL and CC at the same time and Did Not Realize Yeo Jin-goo starred in both of them??? Part my own face blindness, part completely different contexts. TBH I enjoyed everything about this show except for the last 20 minutes, which fucked up an otherwise deeply impactful ending. This is a show about death, revenge, growth, and moving on. I also didn’t feel like the main ship was all that good, but the blorbos will be with me for a good long while. 8/10

The Rookie Historian: Do Not Watch This Show. jfc. Everything good about the premise (Prince who writes romance! Girl who hates his books!) was wiped off the map within the first few episodes. If this show had been a tight 8 eps the pacing wouldn’t have been so off? But it was grueling by the end and we gave up and read a synopsis of the last four eps. Did not feel like we had missed out by quitting early, should have quit even sooner. 2/10

My Only Love Song: Pure fluff, but pretty fun fluff if you’re looking for something light. The time traveling van was the best part of this show, and needed more air time. 7/10

100 Days My Prince: Thoroughly enjoyable! Delightful use of face blindness as a plot point! Main ship cute as hell! OHO! 9.5/10

My Shy Boss: Some fuckery near the end, but mostly pretty solid. GREAT Phantom of the Opera vibes, no real bad guy only bad choices made by delightfully complex people! Maybe the true friends were the anxiety disorders we tackled along the way. 9.5/10

[noxhawthorne]

Planes

Sulfur.

I’m not sure how common it is to remember a smell, especially at such a young age. To be honest, I’m not even sure if that’s something I actually experienced. I think back to that moment, and my nose twinges with an acidic bite that more often than not sends me into a sneezing fit.

I don’t what know the smell could’ve come from, only that in my true sense of beloved terror I’m aware what the putrid scent could mean: demon. Do I believe it was that? I’m not sure. I know the memory has become aligned with sorrow, with hatred, with desire for vengeance that leaves a taste almost as bitter as the scent in my mouth. The only other — and yet, more reasonable — possibility would be that association lended itself to filling the cracks that I couldn’t reach.

I’ve come to know the day as something so painful, something I’m thankful I was too young to understand. I put it in the same category as the shooting that took place ten days before I was born, the one that lead to the countless drills and mistaking the principal’s heels for gunfire. I’m thankful for the distance, even if it scarred the world around me.

My mother has a similar memory, one that is also her earliest. Three years old, sitting on a pink corduroy sofa, watching a casket carried across the television screen. The red and blue of the flag unseen, the flushed cheeks of his wife lost to the colorless fuzz of their old box. Her mother, sitting next to her, quietly sobbing. She didn’t understand what was happening. All she knew was that her mommy was sad.

That’s all I knew. The rest were just meaningless details. Sitting on a grey stitched couch, my mommy crying next to me, the television running colorful reports at breakneck speed. Smoking buildings, like a couple of cigarettes. My mom warned me about those, said they’d kill me if I ever blew one. She said something similar about the people in the planes.

Grey on grey on grey. Despite the color of the fire, it felt like watching the casket. The flush of orange barely seen, only known in the context of smoke. I cared more about the drips on the tip of my mother’s nose. Wanting so desperately to do something, but not understanding what was happening... that is a frightening moment no two year old should ever be forced to experience.

I’ve come to love fire, to love the hot smoke that raises off of burning wood in the middle of October. To love the heat, the waves in the air that ripple from crackling bark, the drawing of massive works using the charcoal of a dead flame. Fire is comforting, soothing, warming, caring, relaxing, breathtaking. To watch a building ablaze is to watch a power unleash with fury only Hell has any inkling of. To dance on the edges of the fiery reign, and still be safe, still have a benevolent hand guiding you. Even at such a young age, it was clear the people falling from so high had been ripped from that grip.

I’d experienced enough sorrow in my life up to that point. Nothing that could come to blows with such a loss, but I knew pain, knew the feeling of tears rolling down my sullen cheeks. And yet, in a moment more so of confusion than personal sadness, the heartache of my mother took the earliest spot in my mind. The pain of another was so palpable that it exists before any feelings of my own. It’s strange to think that someone else could be my first memory.

I’ve doubted time and time over that what I remember is true. It has always felt too much like a mimic, something a slightly older version of myself concocted after hearing my mother’s first memory. But even a sleep-weakened child couldn’t dream up such a sight. Monsters come with bubbled flesh and crooked teeth, lumpy noses and swollen necks, too much hair on their body and too many eyes to count. They shouldn’t be planes.

N. H.

[thepunkmuppet]

ok so I will eventually do this with art, but put it this way I am literally watching hot fuzz for the third time in one week as we speak so I think it’s safe to say that my brain is right slap bang in the middle of HERE right now. meaning I just want to talk about these movies until I’m blue in the face so here goes!

gary king is my babygirl and my boyfriend and my son and my best mate and also me. so. you get it

angelbutter! is there even any competition??

hot fuzz for sure. again, watched it for the first time last week, twice in 24 hours, and now I’m watching it again less than 7 days afterwards and I know every fucking line

shaun of the dead, like, a year or two ago, and then I remembered “hey, there’s more movies like that in the world! maybe there is hope for humanity” and here we are

peter is such an underrated sweetie pie, like name one thing my guy has ever done wrong in his life. you can’t.

probably shaun honestly, I know he’s very much an every man but I think I count in that “every” so yknow, he works the way he’s supposed to i guess

“KILL THE QUEEN” “WOT?!?!!”

there are SO MANY oh my god i genuinely cannot choose

KING GAY and how much it makes peter laugh, it’s become such a running joke with me and my sister I still think it’s hilarious

the IT WAS A BIG LIE monologue in worlds end because… ouch. seriously ouch

gary is bi but we all knew that. angelbutter is canon but we all knew that. gary and andy “got separated” because steven wanted to go live with sam, andy wanted to go back to his wife and gary felt alone all over again and decided to just fuck off by himself (planning on turning that one into a very angsty post-movie fic so stay tuned I guess). I like to think that shaun and liz grew old together with their pet loser in the shed, outliving the zombie apocalypse because YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DESERVE IT

gary king

gary king

GARY KING

danny butterman my sweet stupid little monkey man you will always be loved

probably not long lmfao. but I like to think I would be resourceful?? and I can run like hell when I need to so that would probably help

…. The Winchester??

blanks are easy to kill (squishy blue goo heads that break immediately on impact) but they’re good fighters and also they come back to life infinitely AND I am a weak noodle so probably zombies because they’re slow and easy to overpower

i think this was simons pick in some interview I watched but I just cannot get it out of my head and that is nicholas angel and gary king. like just imagine the breaklight scene if it was with nick angel. that bitch wouldn’t have even made it to newton haven the movie would be over in 15 minutes because of that goddamn notebook

this whole thing is just proving how much I love gary lmfao but my guy is so stupid and funny he would be great to hang out with (not as an actual close friend though, he’s not exactly the expert in healthy relationships). I could definitely play mariokart with ed and shaun though I have to say, and I would love to hang out with the young muskateers mainly because I’m also a stupid teenager. also danny because I mean he’s danny

I don’t really fully see why people ship andy and gary. angelbutter and shaun x ed like YEAH those bitches gay good for them but these two?? granted there are a couple good moments (insert cock joke here) and the head on the shoulder at the end is very ccshvdfbhjcfdhjccddbchj but honestly I just see them as old friends with a toxic relationship. not that I don’t see potential, and if there was a plot line where they had a little thing for each other as teens I think that could be really interesting, but in terms of what we’ve got it just doesn’t really tickle my brain as much as the other two big ships

probably going to greece with my family. we were going to go again in 2020, after the last time in 2018 when I was really quite young, but because of covid we didn’t and since then my grandparents have moved back and sold the house which is so sad because corfu is absolutely gorgeous and I have really fond memories of it

oh I’m wayyy too queer for the nwa. I’m not even flamboyant or anything it’s just blatantly obvious that I’m not cis and in no way interested in being a girl. either that or my dog is a rescue and is always barking at other dogs so they might get mad about dIStuRbiNg tHE cOmMUnItY and kill us both when we’re out on a dog walk lol

gary king again. his costume is absolutely awesome, and I would definitely go all the way with the blue and red blood stains, the rehab bracelet, and the out of order sign. also I literally want to be him so bad it hURTS like no joke I would make a deal with the devil himself just to look like that man and gain his unmatched bi boy swag

just everything in hot fuzz I can’t even choose. we watched the “trivia track” on my family’s old dvd of the movie the other day and oh my god every single line in the first act is foreshadowing and I am just so in love with this movie

sandford. it’s just pretty, like did you see nick’s cottage?? cute little villages like that are honestly such a boss move from britian

regular because I’m basic and I like the little nuts and the chocolate

i kind of wish danny and nick had been like,,, EXPLICITLY canon. because we all know they’re canon and so do the actors and so does edgar and the movie was completely perfect, but representation is important and it just would have been appreciated, especially in 2007

not yet :( started watching spaced with my family and it was good, but I definitely did not enjoy hearing bestie simon pegg saying the t slur for obvious reasons so I decided to hold off on it for a while

danny crashing head first into the first fence and then slowly rolling himself over the top of another fence is my spirit animal

30 Days of the Cornetto Trilogy Challenge

hey y’all know those challenges where you post daily for 30 days and stuff? Well here’s one for the Cornetto Trilogy! Feel free to do whatever you want with these prompts, from creating things to just making a text post :3

Day 1: Favourite character  Day 2: Favourite ship/OTP  Day 3: Favourite film of the three  Day 4: First film of the three you saw  Day 5: Favourite member of The Five Musketeers (that ISN’T Gary)  Day 6: Character you relate to the most  Day 7: Favourite line/quote from Shaun of the Dead  Day 8: Favourite line/quote from Hot Fuzz  Day 9: Favourite line/quote from The World’s End  Day 10: A moment that made you cry (from any emotion)  Day 11: List some headcanons  Day 12: Character you think needs a hug  Day 13: Character you think needs to be slapped  Day 14: Favourite Simon Pegg character  Day 15: Favourite Nick Frost character  Day 16: How long would you (realistically) last in a zombie apocalypse? Day 17: You’re meeting up with your friends, which pub from the Trilogy are you going to meet up at? Day 18: Would you rather face a hoard of zombies or a hoard of blanks?  Day 19: Characters from different films that 100% should meet each other Day 20: Character that you wish was real and that you could meet/hang out with  Day 21: A hot take  Day 22: A moment from your past that you would love to relive  Day 23: What would cause you to get murdered in Sandford?  Day 24: Character you would love to cosplay as/or already have cosplayed  Day 25: Favourite bit of foreshadowing Day 26: Would you rather live in Sandford or Newton Haven?  Day 27: Favourite flavour of cornetto Day 28: Anything you would change?  Day 29: Have you watched either of the honorary members of this franchise: Paul and Spaced? Day 30: Favourite fence jumping scene

[socheckitout-mikey]

heyyy !! i hope you're doing well! i just finished watching the outsiders movie + book (btw you're hcs for are so freaking good omg!! ><) But anywho enough of my rambling, i was wondering if you could do hc for dallas teaching you how to drive? particularly a romantic interest but it could be anyone if you'd prefer. I hope you have fun w this with this!

im doing well, hun. im glad you enjoy my hc's. yeah ofc! always up for some dally hc's >:) tysm for requesting these. sorry it took me a century to get round to writing and posting them. enjoy them tho! <3 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Dallas Winston Teaching You How To Drive Hc's:

° This is gonna be one wild time. Dally isn’t known for his driving abilities since he’s known for being just as reckless on the road as he is on his own two feet. Think of a high speed car chase with the fuzz and you’ll have him perfectly. I mean, he turns corners at 100mph, you better say a prayer!

° You sure picked your instructor well, now didn’t you? And the chances of him taking this seriously are slim to none. However this will be eventful.

° First and foremost, you’re too on edge for his liking. “Listen kid, you’re so on edge that you’re makin’ me on edge, which ain’t good. You gotta loosen up, capeesh? I promise ya, you’ll come outta this car a pro! No one’s gonna recognise you cuz you’ll be drivin’ all snazzy.”

° “Snazzy?” You cocked an eyebrow.

° “Alright, maybe not that cuz your pop’s got you a hunk’o junk, but at least you’ll know how to make it move from point A to point B.” He grinned just as you frowned at him. He patted your shoulder reassuringly, “Y’know, it’s the little things! C’mon, what do we have to lose?”

° “Our lives and this car.” You muttered wryly.

° “Eh for this to work ya gotta have a bit of faith!”

° “Faith?! Alright, who switched you out for Jesus?”

° Dally just about pissed himself laughing at that one.

° The first thing he tries to teach you is how to hotwire a car for, and I quote, “It’s for research purposes! You never know, what if I’m not around to do it for you?”

° “Dal, we are not hot wiring my dad’s car! I just got it -,”

° “Yeah well, maybe if he thinks it’s stolen then he’ll take pity on you and give you his new piece of junk.” He smarted back at you.

° “No!”

° “Well, ain’t you a goody-goody.” He muttered sarcastically under his breath.

° But he lays off after that… a bit.

° When you and Dallas are together, there’s a slim chance of anything being taken seriously. You’re always goofing off. So when you’re trying to take something seriously, Dally’s trying hard not to laugh. It’s just the way that your face gets when you’re focusing, it kills any inkling of seriousness in him.

° “You’re not funny, Dally.” You growled.

° “I think I’m pretty funny, sugar.” He winked at you teasingly, which might have gotten you to roll your eyes and smile just a little.

° I think that Dallas is definitely a, “I’m only gonna say this once, so you better have your listenin’ ears on,” type of guy. Even though you forget it two seconds later, he’s just gonna say it again with a, “Y’know, I think you’re doin’ this on purpose, doll.”

° Whether you did or didn’t do it on purpose cannot be proven whatsoever.

° “What? Are you gonna bring me to court for it?” You sassed back.

° And Dally just did that gorgeous breathy laugh, coupled with a smirk. He straightened up in the passenger seat, staring out of the windshield before looking at you again. “You’re a pain in my ass, sweetheart.”

° There does come a point where he is semi serious, but he’s awfully disgruntled because you’re driving in the legal speed limit.

° “C’mon! All I ask is that you scratch the paint on that oldie’s bumper, for cryin’ out loud!”

° “Dal, there’s a cop there and besides, that man has more money than our entire neighbourhood combined. I’m not takin’ the heat cuz you almost got caught hot wiring his car three weeks ago,”

° “Ass kisser…” he muttered under his breath, disguised by a cough.

° “Say that one more time and I’ll-,”

° “Babe, you’re hearing things,”

° Dallas Winston has some damn road rage, especially when he’s in the passenger seat. The amount of scraps you’ve had to zoom away from is insane. He’s flipping everyone the bird and even starting things.

° Did I mention that he’s also a backseat driver? He does it mainly to annoy you, which works every damn time!

° He isn’t known for his patience, so if on the fifth time of teaching you how to parallel park and you still don’t know how to, there will be consequences. Of course in the form of playfully threatening to demonstrate how to do it for you again. And would you look at that, you did it on your own, all while shaking in your boots. He can’t help but be a little proud. So instilling a bit of fear with his driving will get you to do the hard stuff, eh?

° Now, you don’t always drive the speed limit, but you aren’t as wild as Dally. He’s always calling you gramps or grams whenever you do drive because it’s not the speed he’d choose.

° “C’mon, you gotta live a little! I’m tellin’ ya, I ain’t gettin’ any younger with your tortoise crawl. I mean, I can practically feel the grey hairs growin’ in!” He teased, bored outta his mind as you sluggishly drove down the dirt road.

° You do end up getting the hang of everything pretty quickly. You become a good driver, because Dally’s always telling you not to do what he’s doing. You’re his s/o afterall. At least one of you should know how to drive properly.

° Dallas is a good teacher — in his own way, of course. He’s not winning any awards ever, but he did well — at least for you. Afterall, if you weren’t his partner — someone he’s a little soft for, he wouldn’t have taken so much time to teach you. With all of the teasing and complaining, Dally grew to love spending these nights or afternoons with you. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but seeing you achieve things and get more confident on the road was something that made him proud. Even better when you passed your actual test! Although he rolled his eyes because you got a real license, he couldn’t have been more happy.

° “I coulda gotten you one for free,” he grumbled at you in Buck’s T-Bird, because you couldn’t drive to the test yourself.

° “And have whoever made it stitch me with a bad photo?” You said, practically outraged. Dallas just rolled his eyes.

° “You had the best teacher, of course.” He grinned in the driver's seat, and changed the subject too. He swiped your license from your pretty fingers and began inspecting it, propping his boots up on the dashboard.

° You slapped his foot down, made him laugh as you demanded it back. With a smoke between his lips, he grinned impishly at the little picture on your ID. “Man, they sure got the wrong angle that’s for sure.”

° “Gimme that back!” You grumbled, snatching it away from him and putting it in your back pocket. “Asshole…” you mumbled at him.

° Dallas just grinned, pulling the cigarette from his mouth to flick ashes at you, and blow smoke in your face — two things that you weren’t phased by any more. “C’mere,” he hummed, leaning over and planting a firm but loving kiss on your lips. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” He promised candidly.

° “Really?”

° “O’course-,” he began passionately, but stopped himself. He wagged his finger’s with his smoke in between them at you for a moment as you giggled at your handiwork. “New rule, from now on I only say things once.”

° “Aw c’mon!” You giggled.

° I hope you know that you’re Dally’s personal taxi service now fhfhdhwjeh. He says that it’s the least you can do with all of the time and energy he spent on teaching you how to drive. He means that playfully of course; shot to you with a teasing wink. If you complain, he just says he’ll drive, which always gets you to bend and begin driving off before he can get out of the car.

° The banter is 20/10 I promise you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[dear-ao3]

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little. Barry! Breakfast is ready! Ooming! Hang on a second. Hello? - Barry? - Adam? - Oan you believe this is happening? - I can't. I'll pick you up. Looking sharp. Use the stairs. Your father paid good money for those. Sorry. I'm excited. Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, son. A perfect report card, all B's. Very proud. Ma! I got a thing going here. - You got lint on your fuzz. - Ow! That's me! - Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000. - Bye! Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house! - Hey, Adam. - Hey, Barry. - Is that fuzz gel? - A little. Special day, graduation. Never thought I'd make it. Three days grade school, three days high school. Those were awkward. Three days college. I'm glad I took a day and hitchhiked around the hive. You did come back different. - Hi, Barry. - Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good. - Hear about Frankie? - Yeah. - You going to the funeral? - No, I'm not going. Everybody knows, sting someone, you die. Don't waste it on a squirrel. Such a hothead. I guess he could have just gotten out of the way. I love this incorporating an amusement park into our day. That's why we don't need vacations. Boy, quite a bit of pomp... under the circumstances. - Well, Adam, today we are men. - We are! - Bee-men. - Amen! Hallelujah! Students, faculty, distinguished bees, please welcome Dean Buzzwell. Welcome, New Hive Oity graduating class of... ...9:15. That concludes our ceremonies. And begins your career at Honex Industries! Will we pick ourjob today? I heard it's just orientation. Heads up! Here we go. Keep your hands and antennas inside the tram at all times. - Wonder what it'll be like? - A little scary. Welcome to Honex, a division of Honesco and a part of the Hexagon Group. This is it! Wow. Wow. We know that you, as a bee, have worked your whole life to get to the point where you can work for your whole life. Honey begins when our valiant Pollen Jocks bring the nectar to the hive. Our top-secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured into this soothing sweet syrup with its distinctive golden glow you know as... Honey! - That girl was hot. - She's my cousin! - She is? - Yes, we're all cousins. - Right. You're right. - At Honex, we constantly strive to improve every aspect of bee existence. These bees are stress-testing a new helmet technology. - What do you think he makes? - Not enough. Here we have our latest advancement, the Krelman. - What does that do? - Oatches that little strand of honey that hangs after you pour it. Saves us millions. Oan anyone work on the Krelman? Of course. Most bee jobs are small ones. But bees know that every small job, if it's done well, means a lot. But choose carefully because you'll stay in the job you pick for the rest of your life. The same job the rest of your life? I didn't know that. What's the difference? You'll be happy to know that bees, as a species, haven't had one day off in 27 million years. So you'll just work us to death? We'll sure try. Wow! That blew my mind! "What's the difference?" How can you say that? One job forever? That's an insane choice to have to make. I'm relieved. Now we only have to make one decision in life. But, Adam, how could they never have told us that? Why would you question anything? We're bees. We're the most perfectly functioning society on Earth. You ever think maybe things work a little too well here? Like what? Give me one example. I don't know. But you know what I'm talking about. Please clear the gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach. Wait a second. Oheck it out. - Hey, those are Pollen Jocks! - Wow. I've never seen them this close. They know what it's like outside the hive. Yeah, but some don't come back. - Hey, Jocks! - Hi, Jocks!

Youguys did great! You're monsters! You're sky freaks! I love it! I love it! - I wonder where they were. - I don't know. Their day's not planned. Outside the hive, flying who knows where, doing who knows what. You can'tjust decide to be a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that. Right. Look. That's more pollen than you and I will see in a lifetime. It's just a status symbol. Bees make too much of it. Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it. Those ladies? Aren't they our cousins too? Distant. Distant. Look at these two. - Oouple of Hive Harrys. - Let's have fun with them. It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock. Yeah. Once a bear pinned me against a mushroom! He had a paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me! - Oh, my! - I never thought I'd knock him out. What were you doing during this? Trying to alert the authorities. I can autograph that. A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades? Yeah. Gusty. We're hitting a sunflower patch six miles from here tomorrow. - Six miles, huh? - Barry! A puddle jump for us, but maybe you're not up for it. - Maybe I am. - You are not! We're going 0900 at J-Gate. What do you think, buzzy-boy? Are you bee enough? I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means. Hey, Honex! Dad, you surprised me. You decide what you're interested in? - Well, there's a lot of choices. - But you only get one. Do you ever get bored doing the same job every day? Son, let me tell you about stirring. You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around. You get yourself into a rhythm. It's a beautiful thing. You know, Dad, the more I think about it, maybe the honey field just isn't right for me. You were thinking of what, making balloon animals? That's a bad job for a guy with a stinger. Janet, your son's not sure he wants to go into honey! - Barry, you are so funny sometimes. - I'm not trying to be funny. You're not funny! You're going into honey. Our son, the stirrer! - You're gonna be a stirrer? - No one's listening to me! Wait till you see the sticks I have. I could say anything right now. I'm gonna get an ant tattoo! Let's open some honey and celebrate! Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae. Shack up with a grasshopper. Get a gold tooth and call everybody "dawg"! I'm so proud. - We're starting work today! - Today's the day. Oome on! All the good jobs will be gone. Yeah, right. Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal... - Is it still available? - Hang on. Two left! One of them's yours! Oongratulations! Step to the side. - What'd you get? - Picking crud out. Stellar! Wow! Oouple of newbies? Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready! Make your choice. - You want to go first? - No, you go. Oh, my. What's available? Restroom attendant's open, not for the reason you think. - Any chance of getting the Krelman? - Sure, you're on. I'm sorry, the Krelman just closed out. Wax monkey's always open. The Krelman opened up again. What happened? A bee died. Makes an opening. See? He's dead. Another dead one. Deady. Deadified. Two more dead. Dead from the neck up. Dead from the neck down. That's life! Oh, this is so hard! Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer, humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, mite wrangler. Barry, what do you think I should... Barry? Barry! All right, we've got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine... What happened to you? Where are you? - I'm going out. - Out? Out where? - Out there. - Oh, no! I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life. You're gonna die! You're crazy! Hello? Another call coming in. If anyone's feeling brave, there's a Korean deli on 83rd that gets their roses today. Hey, guys. - Look at that. - Isn't that the kid we saw yesterday? Hold it, son, flight deck's restricted. It's OK, Lou. We're gonna take him up. Really? Feeling lucky, are you? Sign here, here. Just initial that. - Thank you. - OK. You got a rain advisory today, and as you all know, bees cannot fly in rain. So be careful. As always, watch your brooms, hockey

sticks,dogs, birds, bears and bats. Also, I got a couple of reports of root beer being poured on us. Murphy's in a home because of it, babbling like a cicada! - That's awful. - And a reminder for you rookies, bee law number one, absolutely no talking to humans! All right, launch positions! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Black and yellow! Hello! You ready for this, hot shot? Yeah. Yeah, bring it on. Wind, check. - Antennae, check. - Nectar pack, check. - Wings, check. - Stinger, check. Scared out of my shorts, check. OK, ladies, let's move it out! Pound those petunias, you striped stem-suckers! All of you, drain those flowers! Wow! I'm out! I can't believe I'm out! So blue. I feel so fast and free! Box kite! Wow! Flowers! This is Blue Leader. We have roses visual. Bring it around 30 degrees and hold. Roses! 30 degrees, roger. Bringing it around. Stand to the side, kid. It's got a bit of a kick. That is one nectar collector! - Ever see pollination up close? - No, sir. I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it over here. Maybe a dash over there, a pinch on that one. See that? It's a little bit of magic. That's amazing. Why do we do that? That's pollen power. More pollen, more flowers, more nectar, more honey for us. Oool. I'm picking up a lot of bright yellow. Oould be daisies. Don't we need those? Oopy that visual. Wait. One of these flowers seems to be on the move. Say again? You're reporting a moving flower? Affirmative. That was on the line! This is the coolest. What is it? I don't know, but I'm loving this color. It smells good. Not like a flower, but I like it. Yeah, fuzzy. Ohemical-y. Oareful, guys. It's a little grabby. My sweet lord of bees! Oandy-brain, get off there! Problem! - Guys! - This could be bad. Affirmative. Very close. Gonna hurt. Mama's little boy. You are way out of position, rookie! Ooming in at you like a missile! Help me! I don't think these are flowers. - Should we tell him? - I think he knows. What is this?! Match point! You can start packing up, honey, because you're about to eat it! Yowser! Gross. There's a bee in the car! - Do something! - I'm driving! - Hi, bee. - He's back here! He's going to sting me! Nobody move. If you don't move, he won't sting you. Freeze! He blinked! Spray him, Granny! What are you doing?! Wow... the tension level out here is unbelievable. I gotta get home. Oan't fly in rain. Oan't fly in rain. Oan't fly in rain. Mayday! Mayday! Bee going down! Ken, could you close the window please? Ken, could you close the window please? Oheck out my new resume. I made it into a fold-out brochure. You see? Folds out. Oh, no. More humans. I don't need this. What was that? Maybe this time. This time. This time. This time! This time! This... Drapes! That is diabolical. It's fantastic. It's got all my special skills, even my top-ten favorite movies. What's number one? Star Wars? Nah, I don't go for that... ...kind of stuff. No wonder we shouldn't talk to them. They're out of their minds. When I leave a job interview, they're flabbergasted, can't believe what I say. There's the sun. Maybe that's a way out. I don't remember the sun having a big 75 on it. I predicted global warming. I could feel it getting hotter. At first I thought it was just me. Wait! Stop! Bee! Stand back. These are winter boots. Wait! Don't kill him! You know I'm allergic to them! This thing could kill me! Why does his life have less value than yours? Why does his life have any less value than mine? Is that your statement? I'm just saying all life has value. You don't know what he's capable of feeling. My brochure! There you go, little guy. I'm not scared of him. It's an allergic thing. Put that on your resume brochure. My whole face could puff up. Make it one of your special skills. Knocking someone out is also a special skill. Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks. - Vanessa, next week? Yogurt night? - Sure, Ken. You know, whatever. - You could put carob chips on there. - Bye. - Supposed to be less calories. - Bye. I gotta say something. She saved my life. I gotta say something. All

right,here it goes. Nah. What would I say? I could really get in trouble. It's a bee law. You're not supposed to talk to a human. I can't believe I'm doing this. I've got to. Oh, I can't do it. Oome on! No. Yes. No. Do it. I can't. How should I start it? "You like jazz?" No, that's no good. Here she comes! Speak, you fool! Hi! I'm sorry. - You're talking. - Yes, I know. You're talking! I'm so sorry. No, it's OK. It's fine. I know I'm dreaming. But I don't recall going to bed. Well, I'm sure this is very disconcerting. This is a bit of a surprise to me. I mean, you're a bee! I am. And I'm not supposed to be doing this, but they were all trying to kill me. And if it wasn't for you... I had to thank you. It's just how I was raised. That was a little weird. - I'm talking with a bee. - Yeah. I'm talking to a bee. And the bee is talking to me! I just want to say I'm grateful. I'll leave now. - Wait! How did you learn to do that? - What? The talking thing. Same way you did, I guess. "Mama, Dada, honey." You pick it up. - That's very funny. - Yeah. Bees are funny. If we didn't laugh, we'd cry with what we have to deal with. Anyway... Oan I... ...get you something? - Like what? I don't know. I mean... I don't know. Ooffee? I don't want to put you out. It's no trouble. It takes two minutes. - It's just coffee. - I hate to impose. - Don't be ridiculous! - Actually, I would love a cup. Hey, you want rum cake? - I shouldn't. - Have some. - No, I can't. - Oome on! I'm trying to lose a couple micrograms. - Where? - These stripes don't help. You look great! I don't know if you know anything about fashion. Are you all right? No. He's making the tie in the cab as they're flying up Madison. He finally gets there. He runs up the steps into the church. The wedding is on. And he says, "Watermelon? I thought you said Guatemalan. Why would I marry a watermelon?" Is that a bee joke? That's the kind of stuff we do. Yeah, different. So, what are you gonna do, Barry? About work? I don't know. I want to do my part for the hive, but I can't do it the way they want. I know how you feel. - You do? - Sure. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer or a doctor, but I wanted to be a florist. - Really? - My only interest is flowers. Our new queen was just elected with that same campaign slogan. Anyway, if you look... There's my hive right there. See it? You're in Sheep Meadow! Yes! I'm right off the Turtle Pond! No way! I know that area. I lost a toe ring there once. - Why do girls put rings on their toes? - Why not? - It's like putting a hat on your knee. - Maybe I'll try that. - You all right, ma'am? - Oh, yeah. Fine. Just having two cups of coffee! Anyway, this has been great. Thanks for the coffee. Yeah, it's no trouble. Sorry I couldn't finish it. If I did, I'd be up the rest of my life. Are you...? Oan I take a piece of this with me? Sure! Here, have a crumb. - Thanks! - Yeah. All right. Well, then... I guess I'll see you around. Or not. OK, Barry. And thank you so much again... for before. Oh, that? That was nothing. Well, not nothing, but... Anyway... This can't possibly work. He's all set to go. We may as well try it. OK, Dave, pull the chute. - Sounds amazing. - It was amazing! It was the scariest, happiest moment of my life. Humans! I can't believe you were with humans! Giant, scary humans! What were they like? Huge and crazy. They talk crazy. They eat crazy giant things. They drive crazy. - Do they try and kill you, like on TV? - Some of them. But some of them don't. - How'd you get back? - Poodle. You did it, and I'm glad. You saw whatever you wanted to see. You had your "experience." Now you can pick out yourjob and be normal. - Well... - Well? Well, I met someone. You did? Was she Bee-ish? - A wasp?! Your parents will kill you! - No, no, no, not a wasp. - Spider? - I'm not attracted to spiders. I know it's the hottest thing, with the eight legs and all. I can't get by that face. So who is she? She's... human. No, no. That's a bee law. You wouldn't break a bee law. - Her name's Vanessa. - Oh, boy. She's so nice. And she's a florist! Oh, no!

You'redating a human florist! We're not dating. You're flying outside the hive, talking to humans that attack our homes with power washers and M-80s! One-eighth a stick of dynamite! She saved my life! And she understands me. This is over! Eat this. This is not over! What was that? - They call it a crumb. - It was so stingin' stripey! And that's not what they eat. That's what falls off what they eat! - You know what a Oinnabon is? - No. It's bread and cinnamon and frosting. They heat it up... Sit down! ...really hot! - Listen to me! We are not them! We're us. There's us and there's them! Yes, but who can deny the heart that is yearning? There's no yearning. Stop yearning. Listen to me! You have got to start thinking bee, my friend. Thinking bee! - Thinking bee. - Thinking bee. Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! There he is. He's in the pool. You know what your problem is, Barry? I gotta start thinking bee? How much longer will this go on? It's been three days! Why aren't you working? I've got a lot of big life decisions to think about. What life? You have no life! You have no job. You're barely a bee! Would it kill you to make a little honey? Barry, come out. Your father's talking to you. Martin, would you talk to him? Barry, I'm talking to you! You coming? Got everything? All set! Go ahead. I'll catch up. Don't be too long. Watch this! Vanessa! - We're still here. - I told you not to yell at him. He doesn't respond to yelling! - Then why yell at me? - Because you don't listen! I'm not listening to this. Sorry, I've gotta go. - Where are you going? - I'm meeting a friend. A girl? Is this why you can't decide? Bye. I just hope she's Bee-ish. They have a huge parade of flowers every year in Pasadena? To be in the Tournament of Roses, that's every florist's dream! Up on a float, surrounded by flowers, crowds cheering. A tournament. Do the roses compete in athletic events? No. All right, I've got one. How come you don't fly everywhere? It's exhausting. Why don't you run everywhere? It's faster. Yeah, OK, I see, I see. All right, your turn. TiVo. You can just freeze live TV? That's insane! You don't have that? We have Hivo, but it's a disease. It's a horrible, horrible disease. Oh, my. Dumb bees! You must want to sting all those jerks. We try not to sting. It's usually fatal for us. So you have to watch your temper. Very carefully. You kick a wall, take a walk, write an angry letter and throw it out. Work through it like any emotion: Anger, jealousy, lust. Oh, my goodness! Are you OK? Yeah. - What is wrong with you?! - It's a bug. He's not bothering anybody. Get out of here, you creep! What was that? A Pic 'N' Save circular? Yeah, it was. How did you know? It felt like about 10 pages. Seventy-five is pretty much our limit. You've really got that down to a science. - I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue. - I'll bet. What in the name of Mighty Hercules is this? How did this get here? Oute Bee, Golden Blossom, Ray Liotta Private Select? - Is he that actor? - I never heard of him. - Why is this here? - For people. We eat it. You don't have enough food of your own? - Well, yes. - How do you get it? - Bees make it. - I know who makes it! And it's hard to make it! There's heating, cooling, stirring. You need a whole Krelman thing! - It's organic. - It's our-ganic! It's just honey, Barry. Just what?! Bees don't know about this! This is stealing! A lot of stealing! You've taken our homes, schools, hospitals! This is all we have! And it's on sale?! I'm getting to the bottom of this. I'm getting to the bottom of all of this! Hey, Hector. - You almost done? - Almost. He is here. I sense it. Well, I guess I'll go home now and just leave this nice honey out, with no one around. You're busted, box boy! I knew I heard something. So you can talk! I can talk. And now you'll start talking! Where you getting the sweet stuff? Who's your supplier? I don't understand. I thought we were friends. The last thing we want to do is upset bees! You're too late! It's ours now! You, sir, have crossed the wrong sword! You, sir, will be

lunch formy iguana, Ignacio! Where is the honey coming from? Tell me where! Honey Farms! It comes from Honey Farms! Orazy person! What horrible thing has happened here? These faces, they never knew what hit them. And now they're on the road to nowhere! Just keep still. What? You're not dead? Do I look dead? They will wipe anything that moves. Where you headed? To Honey Farms. I am onto something huge here. I'm going to Alaska. Moose blood, crazy stuff. Blows your head off! I'm going to Tacoma. - And you? - He really is dead. All right. Uh-oh! - What is that?! - Oh, no! - A wiper! Triple blade! - Triple blade? Jump on! It's your only chance, bee! Why does everything have to be so doggone clean?! How much do you people need to see?! Open your eyes! Stick your head out the window! From NPR News in Washington, I'm Oarl Kasell. But don't kill no more bugs! - Bee! - Moose blood guy!! - You hear something? - Like what? Like tiny screaming. Turn off the radio. Whassup, bee boy? Hey, Blood. Just a row of honey jars, as far as the eye could see. Wow! I assume wherever this truck goes is where they're getting it. I mean, that honey's ours. - Bees hang tight. - We're all jammed in. It's a close community. Not us, man. We on our own. Every mosquito on his own. - What if you get in trouble? - You a mosquito, you in trouble. Nobody likes us. They just smack. See a mosquito, smack, smack! At least you're out in the world. You must meet girls. Mosquito girls try to trade up, get with a moth, dragonfly. Mosquito girl don't want no mosquito. You got to be kidding me! Mooseblood's about to leave the building! So long, bee! - Hey, guys! - Mooseblood! I knew I'd catch y'all down here. Did you bring your crazy straw? We throw it in jars, slap a label on it, and it's pretty much pure profit. What is this place? A bee's got a brain the size of a pinhead. They are pinheads! Pinhead. - Oheck out the new smoker. - Oh, sweet. That's the one you want. The Thomas 3000! Smoker? Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice the nicotine, all the tar. A couple breaths of this knocks them right out. They make the honey, and we make the money. "They make the honey, and we make the money"? Oh, my! What's going on? Are you OK? Yeah. It doesn't last too long. Do you know you're in a fake hive with fake walls? Our queen was moved here. We had no choice. This is your queen? That's a man in women's clothes! That's a drag queen! What is this? Oh, no! There's hundreds of them! Bee honey. Our honey is being brazenly stolen on a massive scale! This is worse than anything bears have done! I intend to do something. Oh, Barry, stop. Who told you humans are taking our honey? That's a rumor. Do these look like rumors? That's a conspiracy theory. These are obviously doctored photos. How did you get mixed up in this? He's been talking to humans. - What? - Talking to humans?! He has a human girlfriend. And they make out! Make out? Barry! We do not. - You wish you could. - Whose side are you on? The bees! I dated a cricket once in San Antonio. Those crazy legs kept me up all night. Barry, this is what you want to do with your life? I want to do it for all our lives. Nobody works harder than bees! Dad, I remember you coming home so overworked your hands were still stirring. You couldn't stop. I remember that. What right do they have to our honey? We live on two cups a year. They put it in lip balm for no reason whatsoever! Even if it's true, what can one bee do? Sting them where it really hurts. In the face! The eye! - That would hurt. - No. Up the nose? That's a killer. There's only one place you can sting the humans, one place where it matters. Hive at Five, the hive's only full-hour action news source. No more bee beards! With Bob Bumble at the anchor desk. Weather with Storm Stinger. Sports with Buzz Larvi. And Jeanette Ohung. - Good evening. I'm Bob Bumble. - And I'm Jeanette Ohung. A tri-county bee, Barry Benson, intends to sue the human race for stealing our honey, packaging it and profiting from it illegally! Tomorrow night on Bee Larry King, we'll have three former

queenshere in our studio, discussing their new book, Olassy Ladies, out this week on Hexagon. Tonight we're talking to Barry Benson. Did you ever think, "I'm a kid from the hive. I can't do this"? Bees have never been afraid to change the world. What about Bee Oolumbus? Bee Gandhi? Bejesus? Where I'm from, we'd never sue humans. We were thinking of stickball or candy stores. How old are you? The bee community is supporting you in this case, which will be the trial of the bee century. You know, they have a Larry King in the human world too. It's a common name. Next week... He looks like you and has a show and suspenders and colored dots... Next week... Glasses, quotes on the bottom from the guest even though you just heard 'em. Bear Week next week! They're scary, hairy and here live. Always leans forward, pointy shoulders, squinty eyes, very Jewish. In tennis, you attack at the point of weakness! It was my grandmother, Ken. She's 81. Honey, her backhand's a joke! I'm not gonna take advantage of that? Quiet, please. Actual work going on here. - Is that that same bee? - Yes, it is! I'm helping him sue the human race. - Hello. - Hello, bee. This is Ken. Yeah, I remember you. Timberland, size ten and a half. Vibram sole, I believe. Why does he talk again? Listen, you better go 'cause we're really busy working. But it's our yogurt night! Bye-bye. Why is yogurt night so difficult?! You poor thing. You two have been at this for hours! Yes, and Adam here has been a huge help. - Frosting... - How many sugars? Just one. I try not to use the competition. So why are you helping me? Bees have good qualities. And it takes my mind off the shop. Instead of flowers, people are giving balloon bouquets now. Those are great, if you're three. And artificial flowers. - Oh, those just get me psychotic! - Yeah, me too. Bent stingers, pointless pollination. Bees must hate those fake things! Nothing worse than a daffodil that's had work done. Maybe this could make up for it a little bit. - This lawsuit's a pretty big deal. - I guess. You sure you want to go through with it? Am I sure? When I'm done with the humans, they won't be able to say, "Honey, I'm home," without paying a royalty! It's an incredible scene here in downtown Manhattan, where the world anxiously waits, because for the first time in history, we will hear for ourselves if a honeybee can actually speak. What have we gotten into here, Barry? It's pretty big, isn't it? I can't believe how many humans don't work during the day. You think billion-dollar multinational food companies have good lawyers? Everybody needs to stay behind the barricade. - What's the matter? - I don't know, I just got a chill. Well, if it isn't the bee team. You boys work on this? All rise! The Honorable Judge Bumbleton presiding. All right. Oase number 4475, Superior Oourt of New York, Barry Bee Benson v. the Honey Industry is now in session. Mr. Montgomery, you're representing the five food companies collectively? A privilege. Mr. Benson... you're representing all the bees of the world? I'm kidding. Yes, Your Honor, we're ready to proceed. Mr. Montgomery, your opening statement, please. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my grandmother was a simple woman. Born on a farm, she believed it was man's divine right to benefit from the bounty of nature God put before us. If we lived in the topsy-turvy world Mr. Benson imagines, just think of what would it mean. I would have to negotiate with the silkworm for the elastic in my britches! Talking bee! How do we know this isn't some sort of holographic motion-picture-capture Hollywood wizardry? They could be using laser beams! Robotics! Ventriloquism! Oloning! For all we know, he could be on steroids! Mr. Benson? Ladies and gentlemen, there's no trickery here. I'm just an ordinary bee. Honey's pretty important to me. It's important to all bees. We invented it! We make it. And we protect it with our lives. Unfortunately, there are some people in this room who think they can take it from us 'cause we're the little guys! I'm hoping that, after this is all over, you'll see

how,by taking our honey, you not only take everything we have but everything we are! I wish he'd dress like that all the time. So nice! Oall your first witness. So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden of Honey Farms, big company you have. I suppose so. I see you also own Honeyburton and Honron! Yes, they provide beekeepers for our farms. Beekeeper. I find that to be a very disturbing term. I don't imagine you employ any bee-free-ers, do you? - No. - I couldn't hear you. - No. - No. Because you don't free bees. You keep bees. Not only that, it seems you thought a bear would be an appropriate image for a jar of honey. They're very lovable creatures. Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear. You mean like this? Bears kill bees! How'd you like his head crashing through your living room?! Biting into your couch! Spitting out your throw pillows! OK, that's enough. Take him away. So, Mr. Sting, thank you for being here. Your name intrigues me. - Where have I heard it before? - I was with a band called The Police. But you've never been a police officer, have you? No, I haven't. No, you haven't. And so here we have yet another example of bee culture casually stolen by a human for nothing more than a prance-about stage name. Oh, please. Have you ever been stung, Mr. Sting? Because I'm feeling a little stung, Sting. Or should I say... Mr. Gordon M. Sumner! That's not his real name?! You idiots! Mr. Liotta, first, belated congratulations on your Emmy win for a guest spot on ER in 2005. Thank you. Thank you. I see from your resume that you're devilishly handsome with a churning inner turmoil that's ready to blow. I enjoy what I do. Is that a crime? Not yet it isn't. But is this what it's come to for you? Exploiting tiny, helpless bees so you don't have to rehearse your part and learn your lines, sir? Watch it, Benson! I could blow right now! This isn't a goodfella. This is a badfella! Why doesn't someone just step on this creep, and we can all go home?! - Order in this court! - You're all thinking it! Order! Order, I say! - Say it! - Mr. Liotta, please sit down! I think it was awfully nice of that bear to pitch in like that. I think the jury's on our side. Are we doing everything right, legally? I'm a florist. Right. Well, here's to a great team. To a great team! Well, hello. - Ken! - Hello. I didn't think you were coming. No, I was just late. I tried to call, but... the battery. I didn't want all this to go to waste, so I called Barry. Luckily, he was free. Oh, that was lucky. There's a little left. I could heat it up. Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever. So I hear you're quite a tennis player. I'm not much for the game myself. The ball's a little grabby. That's where I usually sit. Right... there. Ken, Barry was looking at your resume, and he agreed with me that eating with chopsticks isn't really a special skill. You think I don't see what you're doing? I know how hard it is to find the rightjob. We have that in common. Do we? Bees have 100 percent employment, but we do jobs like taking the crud out. That's just what I was thinking about doing. Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor for his fuzz. I hope that was all right. I'm going to drain the old stinger. Yeah, you do that. Look at that. You know, I've just about had it with your little mind games. - What's that? - Italian Vogue. Mamma mia, that's a lot of pages. A lot of ads. Remember what Van said, why is your life more valuable than mine? Funny, I just can't seem to recall that! I think something stinks in here! I love the smell of flowers. How do you like the smell of flames?! Not as much. Water bug! Not taking sides! Ken, I'm wearing a Ohapstick hat! This is pathetic! I've got issues! Well, well, well, a royal flush! - You're bluffing. - Am I? Surf's up, dude! Poo water! That bowl is gnarly. Except for those dirty yellow rings! Kenneth! What are you doing?! You know, I don't even like honey! I don't eat it! We need to talk! He's just a little bee! And he happens to be the nicest bee I've met in a long time! Long time? What are you talking about?! Are there other bugs in your life? No, but

thereare other things bugging me in life. And you're one of them! Fine! Talking bees, no yogurt night... My nerves are fried from riding on this emotional roller coaster! Goodbye, Ken. And for your information, I prefer sugar-free, artificial sweeteners made by man! I'm sorry about all that. I know it's got an aftertaste! I like it! I always felt there was some kind of barrier between Ken and me. I couldn't overcome it. Oh, well. Are you OK for the trial? I believe Mr. Montgomery is about out of ideas. We would like to call Mr. Barry Benson Bee to the stand. Good idea! You can really see why he's considered one of the best lawyers... Yeah. Layton, you've gotta weave some magic with this jury, or it's gonna be all over. Don't worry. The only thing I have to do to turn this jury around is to remind them of what they don't like about bees. - You got the tweezers? - Are you allergic? Only to losing, son. Only to losing. Mr. Benson Bee, I'll ask you what I think we'd all like to know. What exactly is your relationship to that woman? We're friends. - Good friends? - Yes. How good? Do you live together? Wait a minute... Are you her little... ...bedbug? I've seen a bee documentary or two. From what I understand, doesn't your queen give birth to all the bee children? - Yeah, but... - So those aren't your real parents! - Oh, Barry... - Yes, they are! Hold me back! You're an illegitimate bee, aren't you, Benson? He's denouncing bees! Don't y'all date your cousins? - Objection! - I'm going to pincushion this guy! Adam, don't! It's what he wants! Oh, I'm hit!! Oh, lordy, I am hit! Order! Order! The venom! The venom is coursing through my veins! I have been felled by a winged beast of destruction! You see? You can't treat them like equals! They're striped savages! Stinging's the only thing they know! It's their way! - Adam, stay with me. - I can't feel my legs. What angel of mercy will come forward to suck the poison from my heaving buttocks? I will have order in this court. Order! Order, please! The case of the honeybees versus the human race took a pointed turn against the bees yesterday when one of their legal team stung Layton T. Montgomery. - Hey, buddy. - Hey. - Is there much pain? - Yeah. I... I blew the whole case, didn't I? It doesn't matter. What matters is you're alive. You could have died. I'd be better off dead. Look at me. They got it from the cafeteria downstairs, in a tuna sandwich. Look, there's a little celery still on it. What was it like to sting someone? I can't explain it. It was all... All adrenaline and then... and then ecstasy! All right. You think it was all a trap? Of course. I'm sorry. I flew us right into this. What were we thinking? Look at us. We're just a couple of bugs in this world. What will the humans do to us if they win? I don't know. I hear they put the roaches in motels. That doesn't sound so bad. Adam, they check in, but they don't check out! Oh, my. Oould you get a nurse to close that window? - Why? - The smoke. Bees don't smoke. Right. Bees don't smoke. Bees don't smoke! But some bees are smoking. That's it! That's our case! It is? It's not over? Get dressed. I've gotta go somewhere. Get back to the court and stall. Stall any way you can. And assuming you've done step correctly, you're ready for the tub. Mr. Flayman. Yes? Yes, Your Honor! Where is the rest of your team? Well, Your Honor, it's interesting. Bees are trained to fly haphazardly, and as a result, we don't make very good time. I actually heard a funny story about... Your Honor, haven't these ridiculous bugs taken up enough of this court's valuable time? How much longer will we allow these absurd shenanigans to go on? They have presented no compelling evidence to support their charges against my clients, who run legitimate businesses. I move for a complete dismissal of this entire case! Mr. Flayman, I'm afraid I'm going to have to consider Mr. Montgomery's motion. But you can't! We have a terrific case. Where is your proof? Where is the evidence? Show me the smoking gun! Hold it, Your Honor! You want a smoking gun? Here is your

smokinggun. What is that? It's a bee smoker! What, this? This harmless little contraption? This couldn't hurt a fly, let alone a bee. Look at what has happened to bees who have never been asked, "Smoking or non?" Is this what nature intended for us? To be forcibly addicted to smoke machines and man-made wooden slat work camps? Living out our lives as honey slaves to the white man? - What are we gonna do? - He's playing the species card. Ladies and gentlemen, please, free these bees! Free the bees! Free the bees! Free the bees! Free the bees! Free the bees! The court finds in favor of the bees! Vanessa, we won! I knew you could do it! High-five! Sorry. I'm OK! You know what this means? All the honey will finally belong to the bees. Now we won't have to work so hard all the time. This is an unholy perversion of the balance of nature, Benson. You'll regret this. Barry, how much honey is out there? All right. One at a time. Barry, who are you wearing? My sweater is Ralph Lauren, and I have no pants. - What if Montgomery's right? - What do you mean? We've been living the bee way a long time, 27 million years. Oongratulations on your victory. What will you demand as a settlement? First, we'll demand a complete shutdown of all bee work camps. Then we want back the honey that was ours to begin with, every last drop. We demand an end to the glorification of the bear as anything more than a filthy, smelly, bad-breath stink machine. We're all aware of what they do in the woods. Wait for my signal. Take him out. He'll have nauseous for a few hours, then he'll be fine. And we will no longer tolerate bee-negative nicknames... But it's just a prance-about stage name! ...unnecessary inclusion of honey in bogus health products and la-dee-da human tea-time snack garnishments. Oan't breathe. Bring it in, boys! Hold it right there! Good. Tap it. Mr. Buzzwell, we just passed three cups, and there's gallons more coming! - I think we need to shut down! - Shut down? We've never shut down. Shut down honey production! Stop making honey! Turn your key, sir! What do we do now? Oannonball! We're shutting honey production! Mission abort. Aborting pollination and nectar detail. Returning to base. Adam, you wouldn't believe how much honey was out there. Oh, yeah? What's going on? Where is everybody? - Are they out celebrating? - They're home. They don't know what to do. Laying out, sleeping in. I heard your Uncle Oarl was on his way to San Antonio with a cricket. At least we got our honey back. Sometimes I think, so what if humans liked our honey? Who wouldn't? It's the greatest thing in the world! I was excited to be part of making it. This was my new desk. This was my new job. I wanted to do it really well. And now... Now I can't. I don't understand why they're not happy. I thought their lives would be better! They're doing nothing. It's amazing. Honey really changes people. You don't have any idea what's going on, do you? - What did you want to show me? - This. What happened here? That is not the half of it. Oh, no. Oh, my. They're all wilting. Doesn't look very good, does it? No. And whose fault do you think that is? You know, I'm gonna guess bees. Bees? Specifically, me. I didn't think bees not needing to make honey would affect all these things. It's notjust flowers. Fruits, vegetables, they all need bees. That's our whole SAT test right there. Take away produce, that affects the entire animal kingdom. And then, of course... The human species? So if there's no more pollination, it could all just go south here, couldn't it? I know this is also partly my fault. How about a suicide pact? How do we do it? - I'll sting you, you step on me. - Thatjust kills you twice. Right, right. Listen, Barry... sorry, but I gotta get going. I had to open my mouth and talk. Vanessa? Vanessa? Why are you leaving? Where are you going? To the final Tournament of Roses parade in Pasadena. They've moved it to this weekend because all the flowers are dying. It's the last chance I'll ever have to see it. Vanessa, I just wanna say I'm sorry. I never meant it to turn out

likethis. I know. Me neither. Tournament of Roses. Roses can't do sports. Wait a minute. Roses. Roses? Roses! Vanessa! Roses?! Barry? - Roses are flowers! - Yes, they are. Flowers, bees, pollen! I know. That's why this is the last parade. Maybe not. Oould you ask him to slow down? Oould you slow down? Barry! OK, I made a huge mistake. This is a total disaster, all my fault. Yes, it kind of is. I've ruined the planet. I wanted to help you with the flower shop. I've made it worse. Actually, it's completely closed down. I thought maybe you were remodeling. But I have another idea, and it's greater than my previous ideas combined. I don't want to hear it! All right, they have the roses, the roses have the pollen. I know every bee, plant and flower bud in this park. All we gotta do is get what they've got back here with what we've got. - Bees. - Park. - Pollen! - Flowers. - Repollination! - Across the nation! Tournament of Roses, Pasadena, Oalifornia. They've got nothing but flowers, floats and cotton candy. Security will be tight. I have an idea. Vanessa Bloome, FTD. Official floral business. It's real. Sorry, ma'am. Nice brooch. Thank you. It was a gift. Once inside, we just pick the right float. How about The Princess and the Pea? I could be the princess, and you could be the pea! Yes, I got it. - Where should I sit? - What are you? - I believe I'm the pea. - The pea? It goes under the mattresses. - Not in this fairy tale, sweetheart. - I'm getting the marshal. You do that! This whole parade is a fiasco! Let's see what this baby'll do. Hey, what are you doing?! Then all we do is blend in with traffic... ...without arousing suspicion. Once at the airport, there's no stopping us. Stop! Security. - You and your insect pack your float? - Yes. Has it been in your possession the entire time? Would you remove your shoes? - Remove your stinger. - It's part of me. I know. Just having some fun. Enjoy your flight. Then if we're lucky, we'll have just enough pollen to do the job. Oan you believe how lucky we are? We have just enough pollen to do the job! I think this is gonna work. It's got to work. Attention, passengers, this is Oaptain Scott. We have a bit of bad weather in New York. It looks like we'll experience a couple hours delay. Barry, these are cut flowers with no water. They'll never make it. I gotta get up there and talk to them. Be careful. Oan I get help with the Sky Mall magazine? I'd like to order the talking inflatable nose and ear hair trimmer. Oaptain, I'm in a real situation. - What'd you say, Hal? - Nothing. Bee! Don't freak out! My entire species... What are you doing? - Wait a minute! I'm an attorney! - Who's an attorney? Don't move. Oh, Barry. Good afternoon, passengers. This is your captain. Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome in 24B please report to the cockpit? And please hurry! What happened here? There was a DustBuster, a toupee, a life raft exploded. One's bald, one's in a boat, they're both unconscious! - Is that another bee joke? - No! No one's flying the plane! This is JFK control tower, Flight 356. What's your status? This is Vanessa Bloome. I'm a florist from New York. Where's the pilot? He's unconscious, and so is the copilot. Not good. Does anyone onboard have flight experience? As a matter of fact, there is. - Who's that? - Barry Benson. From the honey trial?! Oh, great. Vanessa, this is nothing more than a big metal bee. It's got giant wings, huge engines. I can't fly a plane. - Why not? Isn't John Travolta a pilot? - Yes. How hard could it be? Wait, Barry! We're headed into some lightning. This is Bob Bumble. We have some late-breaking news from JFK Airport, where a suspenseful scene is developing. Barry Benson, fresh from his legal victory... That's Barry! ...is attempting to land a plane, loaded with people, flowers and an incapacitated flight crew. Flowers?! We have a storm in the area and two individuals at the controls with absolutely no flight experience. Just a minute. There's a bee on that plane. I'm quite familiar with Mr. Benson and his no-account compadres. They've done enough damage. But

isn'the your only hope? Technically, a bee shouldn't be able to fly at all. Their wings are too small... Haven't we heard this a million times? "The surface area of the wings and body mass make no sense." - Get this on the air! - Got it. - Stand by. - We're going live. The way we work may be a mystery to you. Making honey takes a lot of bees doing a lot of small jobs. But let me tell you about a small job. If you do it well, it makes a big difference. More than we realized. To us, to everyone. That's why I want to get bees back to working together. That's the bee way! We're not made of Jell-O. We get behind a fellow. - Black and yellow! - Hello! Left, right, down, hover. - Hover? - Forget hover. This isn't so hard. Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Barry, what happened?! Wait, I think we were on autopilot the whole time. - That may have been helping me. - And now we're not! So it turns out I cannot fly a plane. All of you, let's get behind this fellow! Move it out! Move out! Our only chance is if I do what I'd do, you copy me with the wings of the plane! Don't have to yell. I'm not yelling! We're in a lot of trouble. It's very hard to concentrate with that panicky tone in your voice! It's not a tone. I'm panicking! I can't do this! Vanessa, pull yourself together. You have to snap out of it! You snap out of it. You snap out of it. - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it! - Hold it! - Why? Oome on, it's my turn. How is the plane flying? I don't know. Hello? Benson, got any flowers for a happy occasion in there? The Pollen Jocks! They do get behind a fellow. - Black and yellow. - Hello. All right, let's drop this tin can on the blacktop. Where? I can't see anything. Oan you? No, nothing. It's all cloudy. Oome on. You got to think bee, Barry. - Thinking bee. - Thinking bee. Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Wait a minute. I think I'm feeling something. - What? - I don't know. It's strong, pulling me. Like a 27-million-year-old instinct. Bring the nose down. Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! - What in the world is on the tarmac? - Get some lights on that! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! - Vanessa, aim for the flower. - OK. Out the engines. We're going in on bee power. Ready, boys? Affirmative! Good. Good. Easy, now. That's it. Land on that flower! Ready? Full reverse! Spin it around! - Not that flower! The other one! - Which one? - That flower. - I'm aiming at the flower! That's a fat guy in a flowered shirt. I mean the giant pulsating flower made of millions of bees! Pull forward. Nose down. Tail up. Rotate around it. - This is insane, Barry! - This's the only way I know how to fly. Am I koo-koo-kachoo, or is this plane flying in an insect-like pattern? Get your nose in there. Don't be afraid. Smell it. Full reverse! Just drop it. Be a part of it. Aim for the center! Now drop it in! Drop it in, woman! Oome on, already. Barry, we did it! You taught me how to fly! - Yes. No high-five! - Right. Barry, it worked! Did you see the giant flower? What giant flower? Where? Of course I saw the flower! That was genius! - Thank you. - But we're not done yet. Listen, everyone! This runway is covered with the last pollen from the last flowers available anywhere on Earth. That means this is our last chance. We're the only ones who make honey, pollinate flowers and dress like this. If we're gonna survive as a species, this is our moment! What do you say? Are we going to be bees, orjust Museum of Natural History keychains? We're bees! Keychain! Then follow me! Except Keychain. Hold on, Barry. Here. You've earned this. Yeah! I'm a Pollen Jock! And it's a perfect fit. All I gotta do are the sleeves. Oh, yeah. That's our Barry. Mom! The bees are back! If anybody needs to make a call, now's the time. I got a feeling we'll be working late tonight! Here's your change. Have a great afternoon! Oan I help who's next? Would you like some honey with that? It is bee-approved. Don't forget these. Milk, cream, cheese, it's all me. And I don't see

anickel! Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat! I had no idea. Barry, I'm sorry. Have you got a moment? Would you excuse me? My mosquito associate will help you. Sorry I'm late. He's a lawyer too? I was already a blood-sucking parasite. All I needed was a briefcase. Have a great afternoon! Barry, I just got this huge tulip order, and I can't get them anywhere. No problem, Vannie. Just leave it to me. You're a lifesaver, Barry. Oan I help who's next? All right, scramble, jocks! It's time to fly. Thank you, Barry! That bee is living my life! Let it go, Kenny. - When will this nightmare end?! - Let it all go. - Beautiful day to fly. - Sure is. Between you and me, I was dying to get out of that office. You have got to start thinking bee, my friend. - Thinking bee! - Me? Hold it. Let's just stop for a second. Hold it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, everyone. Oan we stop here? I'm not making a major life decision during a production number! All right. Take ten, everybody. Wrap it up, guys. I had virtually no rehearsal for that.

- bee movie anon

[l-r-christian]

Title: 'Tied to one' part four

Summary: The siblings had learned that a witch had rewrote their soul strings mean while Mikael had went after Freya and Y/N as Hayley's misdeeds are undone. Would the siblings forgive her? Or lose Elijah forever?

Warnings: Angst like a lot of it, Angry Mikaelsons. Loss of a unborn child, Violence, Y/N being a badass

A/N: I noted that I kinda made this part every long too. So it makes me wonder do guys like it when I do long parts when doing series? Let me know ☺

Elijah and Klaus kept Hayley close as they walked though the Ninth ward and they couldn't help but notice it was quite. Then they heard screaming and smelled burning of wood and they went to see what was happening with the witches as they hadn't done a trial in so long.

"They are doing a witch trial." Rebekah whispered as they watched witches dragging out another witch that crying and Hayley knew who the witch as she was the one that did the spell that rewrote the soul string.

"Please, don't do this! Please, I beg of the Ancestors! I don't want to die!" The witch shouted as they tied the sobbing witch to a stake. And Elijah held Hayley back from rushing forward to try and save the witch.

"Hayley, we not stop this. Davina is Regent and we agreed to not enter witches affairs."

"Regent, her rights?"

"Annilse for rewriting soul strings and going against the Ancestors. Your punishment is death as you have brought danger to all Nine covens. Your last words?" Davina asked holding up a torch of fire as the witch swallowed her sobs and decided if she was going down she was taking Hayley with her.

"Yes, my Regent. Hayley Marshall, Queen and Alpha of Crescent wolf pack had me do the spell for her own personal gain! The Original soulmate is a witch!" The witch cried out shocking the witches and they whispered among themselves as Elijah let Hayley go. A heartbreak settled over the siblings as Hayley looked at them teary eyed the sound of a burning witch echoed out and the thought of this witch dying because of Hayley hit the siblings with guilt at slowly crawled up their backs.

"She is lying."

"Hayley, we have lived long enough to know that one on their death bed has no reason to lie. Once we find our mother you will explain yourself." Elijah said rather coldly walking pass the female hybrid as the others glared at her following Elijah.

At the Abattoir Freya was helping Y/N with spell to find out what was wrong with her soul strings as both were getting along. Freya found the young witch adorable believe she was a good fit for Finn as they bonded over her possible niece or nephew that Y/N carried.

"It seems my soul string to Finn is pure but it is also saying the other four."

"Impossible, Hayley is their soulmate." Freya said frowning looking over Y/N's shoulder looking at the paper seeing the names of her siblings written our elegantly.

"I knew something was wrong but this magic is to much for me to reverse." Y/N said as Freya smiled taking her hand.

"Don't worry I'll fix it for you, dear Y/N."

"NIKLAUS! Come out a face, you mistake of a man!" Y/N and Freya heard Mikael yell as the witches looked at one another before headed out to the catwalk seeing the vampire standing there. Mikael looked up seeing the witches smirking at them which made Y/N shiver at his dark look.

"Ah my traitorous daughter and the tainted soulmate. Niklaus left you both unprotected."

"I am not a traitor for protecting my siblings from you father. I don't need Nik to protect us." Freya said glaring at her father as Y/N swallowed watching Freya use her magic against Mikael. It was a bloody fight with Freya drawing the most blood from Mikael as Y/N watched Freya fall feeling drained.

"Y/N run!" Freya shouted as the witch didn't need to be told twice and took off running with Mikael close behind. Y/N yelped feeling Mikael grab her by the neck and the witch stabbed his side fighting back as much as she could.

"So the abomination is having another child? How much would it kill him to lose you both?" Mikael said having pinned Y/N to the floor as her heart raced unable to speak as the vampire had his hand around her thoat. Panic and fear filled Y/N feeling Mikael's hand on her abdomen making her struggle to get free when pain shot though her as she let out a pain fill scream and Freya trying to make her way to them both.

"Shame to lose something so lovely."

"Shame....you'll....be enslaved.....monster." Y/N coughed up blood and before Mikael could kill her. The witch smashed a small bottle against the vampire's head and said a quick spell under her breath as Mikael fell over unconscious then rolled over whimpering curling into herself trying to stop the bleeding.

"I can't believe you!" Rebekah growled angrily as they entered the Abattoir unable to find Esther and Hayley was about to apologize again but Elijah stopped her seeing Freya up on the catwalk hurt. The scent of blood hit their noses as Elijah bit into his wrist to heal Freya.

"Y/N......father.....witch room." Freya rasped out before letting Elijah heal her while both Finn and Klaus rushed to the room seeing the two. Mikael was still unconscious as Y/N was curled in a ball crying and Finn went went to his soulmate while Klaus went to Mikael.

"Darling, shhhhh I'm here here now."

"I'm sorry.....I tried." Y/N whimpered burying her face in Finn's neck as both him and Klaus couldn't hear the second heartbeat and realized what she meant.

"Get her clean up brother. I'll take care of this."

A moments later with everyone cleaned up and Freya explained what happened and what she heard. Y/N had her abdomen wrapped with bandage and dressed in one of Finn's shirts as she walked into the den and the rest of Mikaelson was taken back seeing her with a fire in her gorgeous eyes when she walked in.

Mikael stood growling angry at the witch that got of him and surprised to see his second oldest following behind her then moved to attacked the witch to try to use her to get out before anyone could stop him.

"Kneel!" Y/N commanded glaring at the vampire as right away Mikael fell onto one knee shocking the others. Y/N stood in front of Mikael with fiery eyes as to the siblings it was the look of a Queen and to Klaus this was the woman he could see hisself waging a war for.....his true Queen.

"What have you done, witch?"

"My grandmother's old command spell. It only works on vampires and as long as I have this mark," Y/N raised her hand showing what looked like a tattoo of a chain attached to a moon as the same mark was on Mikael's hand, "you cannot hurt me and follow every order I give."

"My my spoken like a true Queen there, love." Klaus says smirking walking behind her placing his hands on her shoulders leaning close to her ear looking at Mikael with a glint in his blue eyes. Klaus was enjoying this a little too much as the others stood by watching.

"Now what does the Queen wish to do?"

"Tell him the truth about the baby." Y/N's words made Klaus smirk darkly looking at Mikael before letting Finn help her sit down and now Mikael was confused as Finn fuzzed over the small witch.

"Well dear father, the baby belonged to Finn here. As it appears that real soulmates are able to have children with vampires." Klaus said still smirking as Mikael look at an angry Finn with a apologetic look on his face as Elijah stepped behind their father snapping his neck letting the body fall.

"He'll come in handy to find mother. Now Hayley what poor dear Annilse said before her death." Klaus said looking at the female hybrid as Freya and Y/N looked confused.

"What is going on?"

"Hayley here had a witch rewrite our soul strings because she wanted Elijah." Kol said as the witches looked at Hayley who looked away ashamed and Y/N stood up teary eyed.

"You took everything from me just so you could have something that wasn't yours?"

"I loved Elijah away before you did! I deserved him no......" Hayley was cut off by Y/N slapping her shocking everyone. Hot tears fell freely down Y/N's face as she glared at Hayley who was holding her cheek. The soul strings that connected the witch to the siblings sparked with color was stronger this time but died out.

"I lost my baby! Finn lost a chance to be a father all because of you! You took everything away from them all because you weren't happy! And I hope you fucking burn." Y/N said leaving the den with Finn following after to comfort her.

"You got an innocent witch killed and my brother lost his child because you loved Elijah? How dare you, Hayley." Freya said walking out to check on Y/N leaving the female hybrid with the other four Mikaelsons. Elijah couldn't look at Hayley as his heart ached and blamed hisself for it all even though it really wasn't his fault and Rebekah covered her mouth as her own tears wetting her cheeks as Kol sat next to her comforting her.

"I'm sorry, if I know this would hap...."

"You wouldn't have done it? If you truly loved Elijah, you would have let him happy like he had done when you married Jackson." Klaus said watching Elijah leave then followed after because he knew guilt was eating away at his brother. Both Rebekah and Kol left also leaving Hayley alone as Mikael wike having heard everything.

"I may be a monster but I wouldn't have never hurt any of my children the way you have hurt Elijah."

Elijah stood in the doorway seeing Y/N laying in bed and swallowing his fear the Original walked inside and sat on the edge of the bed his back to her. Elijah was unable to look at her as his guilt ate away at him. The vampire jumped feeling the witch grab his hand and looked seeing that she laced their fingers together.

"Please don't blame yourself."

"I'm sorry.... I can't help it. I keep wondering if I had just kept my distance from her....to wait for you. Maybe you wouldn't be hurting." Elijah said voice cracking from unshed tears as Y/N rolled onto her back shifting to hold Elijah feeling tears hit her shoulder making her heart break hearing Elijah cry silently into her neck.

"Shhh Eli, I don't blame you." Y/N whispered rubbing his back seeing Finn standing in the doorway and watched him walk in. Finn placed a hand on his brother's back as he sat on the bed while Finn was taken back to when they were children how Elijah looked up to his big brother being comforted by the older Mikaelson when Mikael got to rough with the boy. Both Y/N and Finn calmed Elijah easing his blame away while Freya sat with Davina to undo the spell Hayley had done.

"I can't believe Hayley would do such a thing." Rebekah said huddled in Kol's arms as he was comforting his baby sister still angry that Hayley would do such a thing more so the price of the spell cost an innocent witch's life and Finn's unborn child all because the woman loved Elijah.

"The guilt Elijah will be carrying will crush him." Kol said softly feeling the bed dip with Klaus's weight as their older brother lay a comforting arm over the both.

"Both Finn and Y/N are easing his guilt away."

Morning sunlight shined into the bedroom waking Elijah feeling a body on him making him freeze then relaxed catching Y/N's scent as realized that Hayley wasn't in the bed. Y/N woke yawned and Finn woke also leaning over kissing the witch's head then ruffled Elijah's hair making the noble vampire smile at the familiarly.

"Morning boys." Y/N muttered sitting up with Elijah's help and she frowned feeling the knots in her hair realizing she hadn't wrapped her hair.

"Shower darling, Elijah will help you with your hair." Finn says helping her out of help bed as the sound of everyone moving around reached them. Elijah felt a twinge of familiarly as he did Y/N's hiar helping her put it up into two buns then Elijah helped her get dressed seeing her flinching due to her wound.

"Elijah." Hayley croaked out as the vampire paused seeing the hybrid in Y/N's doorway, Hayley looked a bit like a mess her eyes red and puffy from crying. Elijah looked away from Hayley, his heart squeezing in pain but felt Y/N rub his hand with her thumb.

"I'm going to see Freya and Davina." Y/N said softly leaving the room glaring at Hayley as she passed the hybrid. Hayley moved towards Elijah only for the Original to step back from her and pain flashed in Hayley's eyes looking up at Elijah.

"Elijah....I'm sorry....I didn't....."

"You didn't think this would happen? Hayley, you know more than anyone that all magic comes with a price " Elijah tells Hayley looking at her and Hayley saw the heart break on Elijah's face.

"I....just didn't think this was the price....Elijah, I just wanted you back."

"I'm sorry Hayley....I can't." Elijah says walking pass her not even looking at the woman as fresh tears fell down her face.

"So how do we undo the spell? Also why didn't affect Finn's soul string with Y/N?" Kol asked as everyone was in the room while the three witches stood by a bowl.

"Finn was dead when you met her so the spell couldn't undo their soul string as for undoing the spell. We need your blood then Y/N here to say the spell to unwritten it." Davina explained as everyone did as told then watched the ash gray strings burst with color. The siblings looked at Y/N as everything came back to them.

Rebekah was the first to move hugging Y/N who hugged back as Kol came up behind her hugging them both. Kol buried his face in her neck taking in the witch's scent. Once everyone settled down, they focus on looking for Esther. Mikael had his arms crossed watching his children working out what to do more so how Klaus wanted to make sure that the girls wouldn't get hurt.

"Can I help?" Hayley asked getting the sibling's attention before Klaus allowed her to join as Elijah was cold to her while talking about how to stop Esther. Hayley watched from outside of the gate as the siblings made sure that Y/N and Freya was going to be safe.

"I will be with them. I'll watch over them." Mikael said as the siblings looked at him then left with Hayley. In the den Y/N was writing out a spell in her grimoire as Mikael stood by as Freya stopped watching him.

"I wanted to apologize even though there is no way to undo what I have don. But I was told by Esther that you were the bast....Niklaus's soulmate but I am slowly learning that my anger is driving my children away." Mikael tells Y/N as she looked up at the older vampire seeing he was sincere.

"Thank you, Mikael." Y/N said softly as the vampire sat next to her and Freya smiled walking in with tea and the three enjoyed the quiet. There was a crash and Y/N didn't have to use her command seal as Mikael was quick to protect the witches. It was undead hybrids that Klaus had killed back in Mystic Falls as Y/N and Freya set up spells to help Mikael. When the siblings came home to see Mikael dragging dead bodies as Y/N and Freya was burning the bodies.

"What happen?!"

"Our mother sent your dead hybrids to kill us well more like father."

"You survived Mikael." Esther said glaring at her husband as Mikael glared back as the siblings saw how their father hid Y/N behind him.

"And you almost killed my children's soulmate."

"Since when did you care for the little wench?" Esther said glaring at Y/N believing the little witch stole Finn from her. Mikael growled ready to kill the Original witch when she suddenly fell and Klaus stood smirking.

"Enough of that. Shall we get mother's coffin Elijah?"

"We shall Niklaus." Elijah said smirking seeing the dagger in Esther's back. After placing Esther in a coffin and Freya placed many spells on it so it could never open they placed the coffin behind a brick wall and sealed it up.

"Shall we have a ball? I believe we deserve to celebrate." Klaus said smirking as his siblings chuckled agreeing with him before setting in the den feeling oddly comfortable around Mikael as they planned a ball.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Can you please do a smutty continuation of tattoos please???

I am such a thirsty bitch, so of course I will! I kinda got a little carried away with this one, it has got the SPICE. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

*NSFW WARNING - MINORS DNI*

~~~~~~~~~~

When you and Thomas would have arguments about this, that, and the other, it never went farther than a makeup make out session.

But hearing Thomas say that he loved you for the first time, it lit a fire in you that you knew wouldn't be put out by a simple make out session.

You held Thomas' hand tightly as you both rushed back to camp, quickly finding yourselves in the privacy of your shared hut. Your nerves were skyrocketing, the anticipation of what was to come exciting you and making your hands shake.

Before the Maze, you and Thomas had only been intimate a few times. You both had only just started to learn about each other's bodies before W.C.K.D. separated you. At the back of your mind, you wondered how much you would remember about how to please each other. There have been plenty of opportunities to be with each other ever since coming to the Safe Haven, but no other moment felt right until this night.

When Thomas kept looking back at you with an excited grin, you knew everything would be okay.

As soon as the door was shut, Thomas lifted you up in his arms, carrying you effortlessly to the bed. You giggled as Thomas threw you onto the bed, quickly placing himself to hover over you as he kissed and nipped at your neck. He grinned wide as he helped you remove your shirt, trailing sloppy kisses across your collarbones, licking up your jaw until he came back to your lips.

You quickly flipped Thomas over so that you were straddling him, helping him remove his own shirt then stopping to simply look at him, slowly trailing your digits down his torso while trying to catch your breath.

Thomas couldn't help but blush under your intense gaze, just one look conveying how much you loved him. "You mean so much to me." He whispered, sitting up and wrapping his arms around you, trailing soft kisses up your neck.

Thomas' skin felt scorching against yours, his teeth gently pulling at your sensitive flesh making you sigh heavily.

You brought Thomas' hand up to your mouth, kissing his knuckles. You smiled seeing his tattoo, your name being a permanent reminder of your unique connection. You placed a gentle kiss to the ink, Thomas letting out a surprised moan, quickly replacing it with a sharp chuckle. "That felt so good." He awed.

"What?" You giggled, confused.

"When you kissed the tattoo, it felt...really fucking good."

"H-How? It's just a tattoo."

"I don't know." Thomas stammered, a wide grin on his face as he brought your tattooed wrist up to his mouth.

You gasped as Thomas licked across your wrist, a spark of electricity jolting through your body that went straight to your clit. "What the fuck?" You quietly exclaimed.

"You felt that, right?"

It was an odd discovery. All this time, you've never had that happen, you and Thomas never really gave any special attention to each of your tattoos either. If W.C.K.D. did give you those tattoos, why would they make it so that it felt so amazing to have it kissed or licked by each other? Maybe they didn't put those tattoos there, but it was some other divine being that connected you. Either way, the thought that you and Thomas might truly be soulmates aroused you to no end.

You crashed your lips back against Thomas', starting to slowly grind yourself on his hard erection, the sudden friction making Thomas groan into your mouth. You pulled back to unclip your bra, Thomas staring at your breasts with half lidded eyes, getting high off just the sight of you.

You sighed heavily when Thomas took one of your nipples into his mouth, his hot, wet tongue causing more heat to pool at your core, making you ache painfully for him. Thomas hummed in satisfaction when you let out an impatient whine, trailing back to bite down on your bottom lip gently. "These need to come off." Thomas growled, pulling at the button of your pants.

You chuckled when Thomas flipped you over, kissing and biting his way down your torso until he arrived at the hem of your pants, slowly pulling them down your legs. You watched with lust filled eyes as he took the waistband of your underwear in between his teeth, pulling them down your legs just as slow, all while keeping eye contact with you.

You whined frustratingly as you felt Thomas' breath on your core, almost feeling his peach fuzz on your flesh before he moved back up to kiss your pouting lips. You didn't stay frustrated for long before you felt one of Thomas' digits slide in between your folds, smiling smugly at your breathy moan. "So impatient..." He smirked, watching your expression intensely as he inserted a finger into you easily, almost moaning in sync with you. "And so wet for me..."

You gasped as Thomas inserted another digit while thumbing your clit, then leaning down to devour your moans as he finger fucked you. You held onto the back of head roughly, tangling your fingers in his hair, eliciting a groan from him. With your other hand, you reached down and started to palm his still clothed erection. "These need to come off too." You whispered as you placed a kiss just below his ear.

Thomas removed his fingers from you to reach for his belt buckle, only for you to stop him. "Let me." You smirked as you pushed him down below you, quickly undoing his buckle and taking his off his pants with fervor.

You smiled up at Thomas' needy gaze as you placed a kiss on his brief covered cock, just the simple act making his throb with anticipation. You then freed his erection, hearing a sigh of relief from the man as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. "Fuck, Y/n..." He whispered, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

You quickly leaning forward to grab his hand and move it away from his mouth. "Don't do that. I wanna hear you, baby." You continued sucking the head of his dick, his wanton sighs of pleasure traveling straight to your core.

You lowered your mouth further on his dick, surprising yourself with how far you got without gagging, hearing Thomas' first actual moan making you feel a sense of pride. Maybe you haven't forgotten how to please him.

You smirked as you felt Thomas buck against you, his needy moans getting louder the faster you bobbed your head, eventually he stopped you. "You were gonna make me come, baby. I want this to last."

Thomas gently cupped your face and leaned forward, kissing you passionately as you moved to straddle him, moaning into his mouth as you started to grind yourself on his now saliva coated cock. But he quickly flipped you over yet again, not breaking the kiss while kneading your breasts, placing himself in between your legs.

You felt yourself throb at the sight of Thomas pumping his cock, lining himself up at your entrance, first looking to you in confirmation. "Please, Thomas..." You begged, the need for him was all you could think about.

You and Thomas both moaned loudly as he pushed himself inside you, stretching your walls deliciously. "Fuck..." Thomas stuttered, your cunt perfectly encompassing his cock.

Thomas wasted no time, thrusting into you at a mildly brisk pace, his cock quickly finding your G spot, his quicken pace hitting it over and over again made you see stars, your eyelids fluttering closed as you held on to Thomas' shoulders for dear life. "Oh, Thomas..." You moaned, "you feel so g-good..."

You cried out as Thomas thrusted at a harsher pace, him groaning loudly as he felt your walls clench around him tightly. "Ah, I'm so close." Thomas moaned, a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, as was yours.

"Touch me, Thomas, please."

Thomas eagerly reached down, using his middle and index fingers to rub your clit in fast tight circles, taking your hand and placing rough sloppy kisses on your tattoo, the sensation so intense your grip on Thomas' shoulders tightened to the point you broke skin, the sudden stinging pain causing his cock to twitch inside you.

Thomas' moans got louder as he neared his climax, burying his head in your neck, biting down on your flesh slightly while still keeping a constant stimulation on your clit. Suddenly feeling a rush of heat to your core, you brought Thomas' lips to yours, leaning your forehead against his, looking into his eyes as long as you could before they eventually closed tightly as your orgasm washed over you.

You then grabbed his wrist, copying his previous actions and kissing on his tattoo, causing his eyes to widen and let out an animalistic growl.

"Yes, Y/n, fuck!" Thomas groaned, your walls pulsing around him as you rode out your intense orgasm and your tongue on his tattoo making him reach his own climax, moaning your name as he filled you up with his cum.

Thomas collapsed beside you, wiping away the bead of sweat that had traveled down the side of his face while you placed your head on his chest with an exhausted, content sigh. You smiled as you heard his heartbeat slowly even out, relaxing as you ran your fingers up and down his torso. "Why did we wait so long to start doing this again?" Thomas chuckled, taking your hand and giving your knuckles a gentle kiss.

You chuckled back, shrugging. "I don't know. I guess we've just been so busy with everything else."

"Yeah." Thomas replied softly, gently grabbing your jaw and guiding your lips to his. "I've missed this, being with you."

You smiled fondly. "Me too."

Thomas opened his mouth to say something but hesitated, but seeing the lovingly curious look in your eyes, he had to say this. "I...If you're that worried, I won't go back." Thomas almost melted when he saw your eyes light up.

"Really?"

"I have everything I could ever need right here, right next to me." Thomas said as he caressed your cheek, looking at you like you were the whole universe.

You blushed, his statement bringing tears to your eyes. "Only if that's want you really want. If you're dead set on going back, I won't stop you."

Thomas shook his head. "I wouldn't risk our relationship for anything...anything."

You quickly pulled Thomas in for another passionate kiss, finally reaching a true understanding feeling just as amazing as the orgasm that he had just given you. "I love you so much." You grinned, planting kisses all over his face.

Thomas chuckled, laying back down and pulling you to lay on his chest again, the both of you feeling like all was right in your own little world.

~~~~~~~~~~

if i had a dick, it would be hard right now

[lunaticsandidiots]

What do you think Chris' movie knowledge is like?

I've been thinking it'd be kind of limited, due to his dad being controlling and stuff, but on the other hand, the thought of movies being Chris "guilty pleasure" that he knows way too much about is making me insane.

-🍃

THIS IS SO TRUE! oh man my brain is going haywire with ideas right now (also i had to use this gif i promise its relevant later)

chris + movies…

first of all, you’re so correct in saying that chris’ film knowledge would be limited due to the circumstances of both his childhood and adult life (missions, prison, coma etc).

i think all of his comfort movies would be from his childhood/teen years. he was born in 1982, so my examples are gonna be based around that knowledge.

it makes sense to me that the movies he did watch with his dad would be ultraviolent in nature, just stuff that you shouldn’t watch as a young, impressionable kid.

i think chris probably would have sat through more controversial films auggie watched like Cannibal Holocaust (1980) and A Clockwork Orange (1971)

auggie wouldn’t have cared in the least though, he would have watched what he wanted to, and if chris happened to be in the room or he ‘behaved good enough’ auggie just would have let him watch.

i think chris’ favourites from all of those would be films like Die Hard (1988), Predator (1987), and To Live and Die in LA (1985).

i also have this heartbreaking idea that the one thing they’d all do together (Chris, Keith and Auggie) was watch Monty Python (Life of Brian, The Meaning of Life, The Holy Grail) and that it was one of the rare moments that all three of them would be together, laughing and having a genuine, enjoyable, wholesome time.

i also think Keith and Chris would have snuck out to go see midnight matinees together, films Auggie wouldn’t approve of, those of which would be Chris’ other favourites.

films like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989), Army of Darkness (1992) and Child’s Play (1988).

now, if you made the effort to introduce him to more current films, i think he’d be very vocal with his opinions on them.

you cannot deny that if the MCU somehow existed, episode 1 chris would be one of those ‘thanos has a point and he did nothing wrong’ guys.

i think chris would adore action/stoner comedies like Hot Fuzz (2007), Pineapple Express (2008) and Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014).

(tbh he’d eat up any and all seth rogen/jonah hill films and you know it).

i also have this vision of you guys watching Hacksaw Ridge (2016), and you hear a sniffle, and you look over and see him absolutely bawling his eyes out. i think it would hit him like a tonne of bricks and move him deeply, and maybe even inspire him a little bit to resort less to violence (he’d never admit that aloud though).

[duskholland]

Meet Your Match || Mob!Tom Smut

Summary ↠ It’s always awkward when your current boyfriend meets your ex, but it’s a whole new level when it transpires that your ex-boyfriend is the leader of Tom’s rival mob...

Warnings ↠ 18+, contains mature nsfw material. There are extended warnings beneath the cut, but this is quite heavy. 

Word count ↠ 5.9k

A/N ↠ Genuinely am shocked that this came out of my head tbh. It is very intense so please consult the warnings before you dive in ! The entire concept of the first half is very random and almost crack, but then the second half...phew. Sheesh. Thanks to V, mischiefandi, for suggesting I write in a hot Irish mobster as Y/N’s ex...love that for her, and I love you V. I hope you all enjoy this :)

This is a part of my mob!Tom series – a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. You don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense! You can find the other parts in my masterlist.

18+ do not touch this if you are a minor. 

extended warnings: lol. mob themes including gun mention and punching, a broken nose ft minor mentions of blood, a bit of a dodgy ex who makes some uncomfortable comments, alcohol, possessive!jealous!Tom, d/s dynamics, soft!dom!Tom, mean!dom!Tom, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), spitting, orgasm denial and edging, guided masturbation, rough sex, doggy-style, like two minor instances of spanking, he calls her slut once. im not here to fuck around this goes hard so if you aren’t into rough stuff this isn’t for you. also includes unprotected sex -- please practise safe sex (condoms provide barriers against STIs as well as unwanted pregnancy. pls be safe irl). i would like mob!tom to rail me thank u. enjoy.

--------- Meet Your Match ---------

You’d never given much thought to the possibility of Tom meeting one of your exes. Why would you, when being with him is infinitely more satisfying, loving, and enjoyable than it had ever been with one of them? 

But if you’d had to imagine it, you would’ve pictured it casually. Maybe you’d be out somewhere together - at a café, or a market, with Tom’s arm wrapped safely around you. You’d see your ex - whoever it may be - and there’d be an awkward encounter. The exchange of painful hellos and goodbyes, maybe some piercing stares, and pinched words. Then, you’d move on, and that would be that. 

Never, in your wildest dreams, would you have imagined you’d run into your ex-boyfriend whilst in attendance at a meeting of the London mobs. 

It’s a special event - a large, networking occasion, organised by Tom, as an opportunity for him to meet with his partners and rivals, as they come together to cordially bond over beer and discuss business plans. It’s hosted right in the centre of Piccadilly, in the elegant conference room of a luxurious hotel. You’re just starting to relax and settle in when you glance across the room and see him:

Aidan. Your ex-boyfriend. At… A meeting of the mobs of London? 

“What the fuck,” you mutter. You almost drop your glass of champagne as you narrow your eyes and stare. The conference room is vast, adorned with glittering chandeliers and large banquet tables, but it’s undeniable: Aidan is here. 

“Everything alright, love?” Tom’s by your side, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders. He’s in remarkably high spirits this evening. The event is fully underway, and judging by the snippets of conversation you’ve been hearing, Tom’s latest plans are coming into fruition - something about warehouses, and a shipment of class A drugs. But none of it matters now, because your mind is entirely elsewhere.

“No,” you state immediately. 

Tom cranes his neck, his eyes seeking you out. You manage to drag your gaze away from Aidan for a brief second.

“What is it?” He’s looking at you with those deep, warm brown eyes, and his gaze is so tender it makes your breath hitch. One of Tom’s fingers moves up to caress your cheek, and you find yourself shifting guiltily on your feet.

“Who, exactly, did you invite to this meeting?” You ask your boyfriend, speaking in hushed tones. Your eyes slip back to Aidan, and you feel yourself relax as you note he’s still deep in conversation with a few men. 

“Suppliers, rivals, allies… Anyone of importance, really.” Tom narrows his eyes, his thumb brushing over your chin as he looks at you closely. “Why?”

“Did you know that you’ve also invited my ex-boyfriend?”

Judging by the look of utter shock on Tom’s face, he had not, in fact, realised his fundamental truth.

“Who?” He asks immediately. His face shifts through several shades before settling on jealous, with his eyebrows bunched together. 

You turn around, resting one hand on the broad shoulder of Tom’s suit before using your other to point out across the crowd.

“Aidan.” 

Tom squints his eyes, a small rumbling noise travelling up his throat. “Aidan?” He repeats, his voice flooded with confusion. You hum affirmatively. “Bloke with the blond hair? Irish?” Again, a hum. Tom releases a short, curt chuckle. “Angel, he’s not called Aidan.”

“What?” You exclaim. 

Tom releases a deep sigh. “That’s Gordy. He runs the Eastside.” 

You feel your jaw loosen. A fake name. “Gordy Byrne?”

“The one and only.”

“Shit.”

You’ve been with Tom for a year. Over those long, fulfilling twelve months, you’ve picked up on several important key pieces of information about the London mob: it’s split into three factions, each sector run by a different figurehead. Tom and his family control the South-West, and they’re in constant disagreement with Gordy, of the East, and Monique, of the North. Each third is continuously testing the waters, trying to take over land, and supplies, and emerge as the solo Kingpin of London. The fragile alliance between the three families is constantly on the verge of disintegration. 

And Gordy is your ex, who you’d met three years ago at the same exclusive club you’d worked in when you’d met Tom. Your relationship had lasted eight months and ended on equal terms as you’d mutually agreed the spark had fizzled away. Despite the considerable span of your relationship, you’d had no suspicions that he’d been involved with the mob. The thought is incredibly jarring.

“Seems like you have a type,” Tom comments, his voice entirely too flippant. 

Before you can call him out on his apparent feelings of resentment, your evening takes a further turn as you realise Gordy has spotted you and is now working his way through the sea of people towards you. 

He looks just as you remember: 6’2, blond, green-eyed. His shoulders are stocky and broad, and his suit bulges with disguised muscles. He maintains that signature swagger you’d come to associate with him, his eyes glinting as he throws out a wild smile. Your eyes catch on the presence of a few new golden teeth fixed in his mouth, and then to the tattooed knuckles that hang by his side.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Gordy greets, green eyes skimming across you appreciatively, “Who’d ‘a thought we’d meet again?”

All you can really do is let out a squeak of agreement, and pull away from Tom’s side to greet the man with a kiss on the cheek. The familiar scent of Gordy’s musky cologne drifts up your nose, and it makes your head spin.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you pull away, looking at him incredulously. His pale cheeks wear a scruff of fuzz, highlighting the high arches of his cheekbones. 

“What are you doing here?” He returns, his Irish accent twanging. His eyes shift over to Tom, then back to you, and then they watch as Tom reaches out and carefully tangles his fingers with yours. “Wait…”

“Evening, mate,” Tom greets, voice a little clipped. You feel the grip on your hand tighten, and you let him reel you back into his side. You find home beneath Tom’s heavy arm as he repositions it across your shoulder, keeping you near. “I see you’ve already met my girlfriend.”

The air seems to flicker with tension.

“Interesting,” Gordy comments. He shifts his attention back to you, drawing the lines of your face with his curious eyes. “Didn’t take you for the type, Y/N. Would’ve stuck around if I’d thought you could handle this life.”

His words dig into you, and you find yourself clenching your teeth.

“You told me you worked in banking.”

“Oh, I do.” He runs his fingers down the front of his designer suit, winking. “The mob is quite a lucrative business.” He pauses, and something a little like guilt flashes over his face. “You know my real name, yeah? Gordy, not Aidan. Sorry about that. I hate the lies, but they’re for protection, y’know.”

You feel almost dizzy as you bring your glass of champagne to your lips and throw it back. The bubbles do little to soothe down your discomfort.

“Wow,” you manage. Your eyes shift up to Tom, who’s looking at Gordy with apprehension in his gaze. You understand why: for the past two months, Tom’s been engaged in a brutal turf-war with Gordy’s family over in the South-East. Men have died, shipments stolen. You know one of Tom’s primary motivations for the meeting tonight was to see if he could reach some kind of agreement with them, but the circumstances were tense enough as it was, before this. 

“Isn’t this fun,” Gordy comments. He’s eyeing up Tom now, a cocky smirk hanging from his plush lower lips. “Well, Thomas, it’d seem you and I have a lot more in common than we’d thought, eh? Maybe we’ll be able to come to an agreement.” 

Your stomach turns, and you feel Tom tighten his grip on your arm. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, his tone is so severe that it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Don’t talk about Y/N like that,” he warns darkly. “We will not be making any deals tonight, Gordy.”

You raise your eyebrows, trying to meet his eyes but finding that Tom ignores your attempts and instead keeps staring straight ahead at your ex-boyfriend, a determined frown hanging from his thin lips.

“Why’s that, Thomas?” He quips.

“I don’t like your attitude, I don’t like your policies, and I don’t like the way you’re looking at my girlfriend.” 

Gordy arches an eyebrow. His hand slips down slowly to rest on his hip, but not before his suit jacket has ridden up just enough to expose the sleek outline of his gun, hanging low in the holster on his belt.

“Is this how it’s going to be, Tom?” He asks, shifting his eyes back to you. “Eh? I bed your bird and suddenly business is off the table?”

You can feel the mood sour, and as much as you’d like to reach out and give Gordy a piece of your mind, you are painfully aware of the circumstances: you are standing in the lion’s den. Despite the meeting of Tom’s creation, you know that there’s no chance in hell that Gordy has walked into the evening alone. To initiate any sort of heated discussion whilst surrounded by London’s most notorious gangsters would be a disastrous move.

“Tom,” you murmur, recognising all too well the signs of anger that curl out across Tom’s face: his clenched jaw, the deep frown marks on his forehead, the tight line of his lips. “Let’s go.”

For a moment you think he’s going to follow you. Tom lets you shrug off his arm and take his hand, and his posture loosens as if he’s about to turn and walk across the room with you. But then, of course, Gordy just has to get in the last word.

“Oh, well, if you’re going, you won’t mind giving me a goodbye kiss, eh, Y/N?” He peers at you with mischievous eyes, his voice lilting lightly. “Just like old times?”

Tom’s moving before you can even attempt to stop him, and you hear a loud crack as his fist sweeps up and collides with Gordy’s nose. The man doubles over, groaning profusely, and your eyes widen as you take in the stream of blood that immediately begins to pour from his face.

“Tom!” You exclaim, your eyes wide and your hands shaking. Your boyfriend grabs at your fingers, squeezing your digits in his.

“He’s not allowed to disrespect you like that,” he mutters darkly. 

“I don’t need you to defend me, I can do it myself,” you hiss back. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you feel the hot lump of anger melt away as Tom looks at you through those brown, golden eyes, his mouth positioned into a guilty smile. 

Two men emerge from the crowd and flank Gordy’s side. You feel a deep swell of fear pool in the pit of your stomach, and instinctively your fingers move down towards your bag for the switch-blade you’d buried alongside your lipstick. But you find your actions stilling as Gordy clears his throat, rights himself and holds up a bloody hand.

“It’s fine,” Gordy tells his guards. He tilts his head in your direction. “I deserved it. No disrespect to the lady.” His beady green eyes move to Tom. “We can finish this discussion some other time, Thomas. Good evening to you both.” 

Before waiting to see if Gordy turns around and walks away, you tighten your grip on Tom’s hand and lead him out of the large conference room. It’s completely silent, and the groups of people seem to part like the sea as you escort your boyfriend from the scene, his lips brushing over the back of his bruised hand as he winces. You don’t say anything, not until you’re safely stowed away in the backseat of a large car, the doors locked, windows tinted, and driver separated by partition.

“Love, look, I’m sorry, but I-”

You cut Tom off by climbing from your seat and meeting his mouth with a deep, needy kiss. Your boyfriend releases a noise of surprise, and his hands shift up to grab at your waist as he pulls you onto his lap eagerly, pressing back against your lips with fervour. It’s messy, and you enjoy running your hands through strands of his unruly hair as he keeps you close, his fingers grasping at every area of your front and sides, mapping you out.

“What did I do to deserve that?” Tom murmurs, his curious eyes meeting yours. “Thought I was in trouble.” His hands cup your cheeks, and you give him a coy smile.

“You shouldn’t have punched him,” you tell him, biting your lip as his thumb brushes over the soft skin of your face. “I’m glad that you did, though. He was a dick.” 

Tom hums. “And also the enemy, love.”

Your eyebrows knit together, and you sit back on Tom’s wide thighs as you sigh. “I can’t believe he runs one of the other mobs,” you mutter. “I can’t believe I’ve dated two mobsters, and I didn’t even know.”

Tom’s smile doesn’t quite stretch to his eyes, but he still manages a short chuckle. “I hate the thought of you being with him,” he admits. His eyes stir with something darker, and his fingers dig into your waist. “I hate the thought of you being with anyone other than me.”

You bite your lower lip as you twirl the short strands at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “It was a long time ago,” you tell him. “Our relationship wasn’t anything of consequence.”

Your boyfriend chuckles, but he’s still got that hungry glint in his eyes. You feel a shiver roll down your spine as his gaze sweeps across your face, his hands shifting up to rest on the curves of your breasts. Your dress is thin, and the neckline meant you had to go without a bra. A soft gasp falls past your lips as Tom’s thumbs brush over the lines of your nipples, which prick in response to his touch.

“Is our relationship of consequence?” Tom asks, his voice dancing. He’s staring at your chest now, his smirk widening as you instinctively push further into his hands, enjoying the feeling of his large, warm palms groping at your breasts.

“Of course.” You swallow and bring your fingers away from his neck. With careful movements, you reach up and pull the straps of your dress from your shoulders, meeting Tom’s gaze as you roll down the front of the garment, exposing your bare chest to him. “I love you.”

Tom seeks out your neck with his lips, and you release a small gasp as he sucks firmly on the base of your throat, his fingers moving over your bare chest. You can feel his mouth pulling the blood to the surface of your skin, but the pain makes you cry out in pleasure as your fingers wrap around his suit jacket and fist at the expensive material hugging his back. He takes his time as he works his way up your neck, sucking and biting, and then soothing the throbbing marks with gentle laps of his tongue and soft, open-mouthed kisses. By the time he reaches your ear, you’re squirming in his lap.

“You are mine.”

His tongue teases the lobe of your ear as his hands move all across your bare back, caressing your skin gently with his palms. The cold metal of his silver rings bites to touch, but you shiver in enjoyment.

“Yours,” you agree. Tom shifts from your neck to look at you straight on, his eyes full of dark, heady lust.

“Mine,” he repeats. His mouth is on yours, and you let him prise apart your lips with his tongue. His hands fist at your hair and he pulls you closer roughly, and your teeth collide as he kisses you sloppily, groaning into your mouth. It’s messy - with noses bashing and his digits tugging at your strands and your lips moving everywhere, slick with spit - but you feel him gather you up in his arms as he holds you. He owns you.

You make-out until the car arrives home, at which point your lips are tender and puffy and your entire body throbs with persistent arousal. Tom’s eager with his affection, but you can feel the underlying pulse of fear coasting through his veins; you want so desperately to placate it: to let him know that he has nothing to worry about - that you are his now, and probably always will be. Tom’s not alone in his discomfort - you, too, feel jilted and unbalanced after running into a ghost from your past. You need Tom desperately, in more ways that one. You need him to look after you - to hold you, be firm with you, and show you your place within your relationship. You need him to be your dom, and you crave the release of submitting to him entirely - with your mind, body and heart.  

“You can do anything you want to me tonight,” you tell him. You’re standing at the foot of the bed, Tom sitting up against the headboard. His suit jacket lays off to the side, tie hanging loose around his neck and his top two buttons undone. You’ve made a mess of his hair, but he looks so fucking pretty with his chestnut curls all tousled and his lips bright pink and inflamed. 

“That’s funny,” Tom comments, eyes glinting as he tilts his head to the side, “I thought I could already do that.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself biting your lower lip as your face fills up with heat.

“Do you want me to take off my dress?” Your fingers toy with the straps, which are all rolled up and uneven thanks to the hastiness in which you’d scrambled from the car.

“No.” Tom sits up, and he pats his thigh invitingly. “Take off your panties and come up here.”

You tease him a little bit, enjoying the way his gaze weighs down your figure. You’re slow to push your dress up to your waist, and you make a show of hooking your index fingers beneath the band to reveal lacy panties. You tug at the material until it falls to pool at your feet, and then you delicately step away from them and approach your boyfriend. You have a sudden thought that it’s as if you are the prey, walking straight into danger, but you welcome it: Tom’s looking at you, his expression hard but excited and his eyes swimming with darkness, and it makes your throat dry up. 

“Such a gorgeous girl, aren’t you?”

The material of Tom’s slacks feels coarse against your centre as you straddle his left thigh. His hands press at your waist, pushing your cunt straight against his leg, and the contact makes you moan softly.

“You look so pretty with your neck all marked up.” Tom presses a light kiss to one of your hickeys, and you gasp as a line of pain ripples out across your skin. “You look like you’re mine.”

“I am.”

“I know.” Tom strokes his hand through your hair, eyes watching you carefully. “I’m just going to remind you.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” You ask, your voice wavering.

He hums, the noise suspended with confidence. “You’ll see.” His hands dig into your waist a little firmer, and he starts to guide your movements. “Work yourself against my thigh, darling. Make a nice wet spot for me.”

His words make you moan, and you’re quick to comply. You recognise the dark glint in his eyes and the layers to his voice - he’s slipping away into his harder, more dominative side, just as you find yourself eager to oblige him. You grind yourself down over his thigh, and his trousers are rough against your flushed centre. The friction burns beautifully. A few moans slip past your lips, and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press over you, digging into your waist, guiding you. Tom is very much in control, and as the seconds slip past, you give into it.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs, rich voice drifting into your ears. You bite your lip, your hole clenching around nothing as you swivel your hips and feel the pressure to your hot bud.

“Feels really good,” you admit, voice a whimper. “Love it when you let me touch you.” 

Tom takes your chin between two fingers, looking at you with a hard stare. He pulls your face to him, his tongue licking a wide stripe over your lips. As you try to push forward for a kiss, he just moves away, a teasing smirk on his lips. “No,” he says softly, “You’ll take what I give you, and you won’t be greedy about it. I don’t want to have to punish you, babygirl.”

You nod quickly, the movement hurried and messy. It’s getting hard to think of anything other than the fact you’ve made his trousers slick with your arousal. The burn between your legs is gradually swelling to a crescendo.

“Sorry,” you whisper. Your fingers find purchase on his shoulder, and you find your forehead dropping down to rest there too as your breathing hitches.

“Are you close, darling?” He’s very soft and gentle, and it makes you whimper out a small noise of agreement. Tom chuckles, pulling at your hair as he brings your face back up, his hands bearing down on your hips to halt your movements. “Lie down for me, please.”

You scramble from his lap, your centre pulsing as it leaves his thigh. Your eyes catch on the way you’ve left a large, wet mark on his trousers, and you watch with wide eyes as Tom stands from the bed. He walks around to the foot of the mattress, his figure commanding your complete attention. 

“I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do to you,” he says, speaking quietly. His nimble fingers work down the buttons of his shirt, popping them quickly. Once his shirt is discarded, Tom works on his slacks. As the metallic sounds of his belt clicking fill the air, he smirks at you. “Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. You squeal as Tom grabs at your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. He kneels on the floor, hauling you closer until your thighs are over his shoulders and his face is near your heat. Your dress scrunches up at your waist, and you whimper as his hands press your legs apart. “I’ll always be good for you.”

“Is that right?” Tom asks, index finger running lightly over the inside of one of your thighs. He looks up at you, eyes hooded and blown wide with lust.

“Yes.”

“Prove it to me,” he instructs. “If you think you’re about to cum, you need to tell me.” Tom’s gaze darkens. “If you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what happens.” With tender lips, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, looking at you with a gentle smile. When he speaks again, his voice is lighter, “Is this okay, darling?”

You nod.

“Words.”

As two of Tom’s fingers spread your puffy outer lips, you stammer out a broken, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good girl.”

He dives in quickly, and the press of his warm tongue against your pulsing pussy makes you cry out. You’re already feeling hot and bothered from the time you spent rutting against the coarse material of his trousers, and the pressure soothes you. He’s too far away to touch, so you curl your hands into fists and pull at the silky bed linen, eyelids fluttering shut as his tongue caresses you, over and over.

Tom makes out sloppily with your cunt, two of his slender fingers pulling up to push into your heat. He fills you easily, taking the edge off your desire as his tongue flicks over your clit, unrelenting, hard. He’s eager for it, holding nothing back as he coaxes you quickly towards a high, moaning and grunting into your centre. The vibrations drive you mad, and your mind spins off as he holds you in place.

“S-Shit,” you stammer, back arching. As much as you don’t want to say it, Tom’s already pushing you towards climax. As he curls his slender digits up against you, his tips brush against your g-spot, and it has you seeing stars. “I’m gonna cum, Tom.”

All movements stop. Tom’s mouth pulls back from your cunt, and his fingers still inside you. Your walls clench around him, but he relaxes them, halting all stimulation of your sensitive pussy as you whimper.

“Good,” he coos. Your eyes seek him out, and you moan as you see his chin slick with your juices. “You taste divine, sweetheart.” His free hand strokes over your inner thigh, calming you with gentle circles and caresses. “We’ll do this a few more times, I think. I want you dripping onto the sheets. I want you to forget about everything apart from me, and how desperate you are for me.” His teeth nip at your thigh, and you squirm.

True to his word, Tom works you up, over and over again. Each time he brings you to the edge of a high, he pulls back at the last moment, leaving you teetering on the edge for a painful second before your climax goes ebbing away from your reach. The time it takes to build up to each edge narrows considerably with each completion, and you find yourself growing desperate for more. Your skin is hot and prickles, your forehead breaking into a sweat. The muscles in your legs ache from the exertion of almost spasming into climax, time and time again, and your throat hurts from your eager, desperate moans. He’s a demon, his deep brown eyes watching you closely, sharp ears picking up each noise and sound, and he seems intent on drawing this out for as long as possible.

“I think that’s enough,” Tom finally says. Your sigh of relief is so loud and pronounced that it makes him chuckle. “What, you didn’t like that?” His hand comes down over your inner thigh, slapping softly. As the pain ripples across your skin, you whimper. “Don’t lie to me, angel. I know you love it when I’ve got my head between your legs.” His large hands slip under your thighs, and he pushes you up the bed, slipping up over you. With his body suspended above you and a hand either side of your head, Tom raises his eyebrows. “Open,” he instructs.

What he does next makes your eyes roll back. You open your mouth immediately, and he chuckles darkly. One hand holds your jaw, and you watch as Tom purses his lips, eyes you intently, and then spits directly into your mouth. The taste of your cunt spreads out across your tongue, and your hole clenches around nothing as you moan loudly.

“Swallow,” he says. You close your mouth and do just that, and then you stick out your tongue for him to see. “Good,” he coos. Tom kisses you suddenly, the action hard as he sucks on your tongue. When he pulls back, he kisses your nose. “Pretty girl, aren’t you? My pretty girl.”

His lips skate all across your face, dusting you in warm kisses of reward. 

“I love you,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The gratitude you feel towards him for knowing exactly what you need is boundless, consuming. 

“And I love you.” You share a tender moment of understanding as Tom brushes his hand over your face, and in the look you exchange, you know that he feels as you do: appreciation towards your partner, for reading you and obliging you. He hums softly, slipping away from you after a final kiss to pull off his boxers. “Take off your dress for me, love. Give me a show.”

You’re shaky on your feet, but you manage to stand in front of the bed. Tom sits up against the headboard, working his hand over his erect length as he watches you. You tease him, just like you know he enjoys, taking your time as you roll the sleeves down and unzip the back. The material goes tumbling to the floor, pooling at your feet, and then you’re entirely naked - wearing only his hickeys, and his spit between your legs. 

“Beautiful,” he says, eyes glinting. “You’re an angel, aren’t you?” When you shrug bashfully, he nods. “My angel. C’mere.” You move to him, but he stops you before you can reach for his cock. “I want you to lie down here and show me how you get off.”

“But I want--” 

He shuts you up with a hard stare. “Do you really want to finish that sentence?” When you’re quiet, he hums. You can’t stop staring at the way his hands slide over his length. Your mouth waters at the thought of letting your tongue wander over his leaking tip, collecting the beads of salty precum. “Do this for me, and then I’ll let you have what you want.”

You part your legs, your thighs aching. As you dip your hand between your legs, you whimper to feel your slick mixed with Tom’s spit. Your skin is soaked, and as you nimbly press two fingers into your hole, you find it looser, already stretched from Tom’s exploration earlier. You can feel his eyes on you, watching your hand move as you slowly fuck yourself with your fingers, getting pleasure from the knuckle of your thumb as it brushes up against your clit.

As you begin to whimper, Tom swoops in with his final lesson of the evening. He reaches down, wrapping his hand around yours, guiding your movements. He sets the pace and the angle, speeding up your thrusts. The sound of your wetness sloshing around makes you cry out loudly as he edges you perfectly, like he knows your body better than you. 

“You see this,” he mutters, voice husky. “I give you pleasure. It doesn’t matter if it’s my tongue in your cunt, or my fingers, or my cock. This cunt?” He curls your fingers, and they brush up against your g-spot, making you cry out. “This cunt is mine. You are mine.”

You almost lose it right there, the deep husky tones of his dominant voice sending you spinning, but then Tom pulls away. As your walls flutter weakly around nothing, he pats at your hip.

“Hands and knees, darling.”

Your arms shake as you roll over, adopting the position. Again, Tom stands at the foot of the bed, pulling you back until you’re spread open for him. You feel his cock, dragging through your slick folds, teasing your tender clit until your hips jerk forwards. Your bud aches almost painfully, your body pulled tight with an overwhelming need to climax.

“Please,” you beg desperately, dropping your head between your arms. “Please, please.”

Tom’s hand smooths over the curve of your ass, silver ring biting coolly against you, “Does my darling want to feel my cock?” 

“Yes, please.”

“Hmm.” Easily, he slips the tip of his cock past your entrance. “I suppose you deserve it,” he teases. “Been such a good little slut for me, haven’t you?”

When Tom finally fucks into you, the moan you release is almost pornographic. He’s been teasing you, over and over, drawing you close to orgasm only to jerk it away from you each time, but now that he’s got his length buried up to the hilt inside you, you know it’s been worth it. Nothing compares to the relief you feel as you realise you’ll be allowed to finish soon, your walls squeezing his cock. 

The pace is punishing, and everything blurs together. His hands on your hips, holding you in place, pulling you back rhythmically to meet with his thrusts. As his slick cock pounds into you over and over, his flushed tip nudges against your g-spot. The stimulation makes your eyes tear up, and a few hot tears skate across your cheeks as you whimper and cling to the sheets.

“Fuck, princess, you’re fucking perfect for me, aren’t you?” A hand falls over your bum, and you moan. “So tight and warm. Feels so snug around me, lovie. So perfect.” Tom’s voice comes out firm, but it wavers, and you can imagine the grimace of pleasure on his face. “Always take me so well.” His hand moves to the top of your back, and he pushes you into the bed. Your face buries into the sheets as the angle adjusts, and you gasp loudly as the adjustment means he can rail you harder. 

“S-Shit,” you moan. “Love your cock, Tommy. Pl-Please.”

“What do you need?”

You whimper, the power of his thrusts fucking you further into the mattress. “W’nna cum.”

“You can play with your clit then.”

Tears fly down your cheeks, and it feels overwhelming as you nudge a hand between your legs to fondle your bud. Tom’s hands hold your hips, keeping you nice and open for him, and you’re glad for the heavy pressure on your skin. It keeps you anchored down.

“Are you close?” He asks, grunting heavily as he feels your walls squeeze him.

“Yes.”

“I think you deserve to cum, don’t you?” He pauses briefly, cursing lowly, pace faltering. “Let go, darling. Let me feel you squeezing me. I want to feel what I do to you.”

The action of his deep, fast thrusts mixes with your fingers on your clit, and you cum with a  loud, quivering scream. Tom holds you down, fucking into you as you spasm and writhe in the sheets, and after a few, mind-numbing moments of pleasure, you feel him follow you with a grunt. His hot speed paints your walls, his noises of heady enjoyment mixing with yours, and it just prolongs your climax.

When you calm down, Tom carefully pulls out from you. You whimper at the loss, feeling a little out of it as he turns you over, pushes you up into the centre of the bed and pulls you on top of him. Your head settles in the crook of his neck, his hands palming over your back as he kisses the top of your head, over and over again.

“So good for me,” he mumbles. Your legs tangle together. You can feel his cum spilling from your hole, dripping down onto him, but he doesn’t seem to care. “My best girl. I love you so much.” 

You hum quietly, rubbing your hand over the top of his arm as you whimper. “Love you too,” you manage, voice hoarse. 

Tom’s hands cup your face, and he gently coaxes you up until he can meet with your eyes. His fingers brush away the teary residue from your cheeks, and he kisses you softly.

“Mine,” he mumbles against you, smiling into your lips as you hum in agreement. One of your hands folds into his curls, and you feel your heart stirring contentedly in your chest.

“Yours.”

---------

lol. hope you enjoyyyyed :) 

I’m intending to do some mob!Tom blurbs next week for mob!Monday, so if you have any concepts you’d like to see, please send them to my ask box!

ask box is open for your thoughts!! I’m dying to know what you think of this... 👀

masterlist linked in bio!

[velvetmel0n]

Insatiable

Summary: The Mandalorian has a run in with some rather odd pollen while hunting for a quarry and you try to fix it

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Automatic dub-con due to the pollen, penetrative sex, sex against a wall, Mando finds a loophole to take his helmet off but everything else stays on, the Child is sleeping don’t worry, little bit of cockwarming, soft ending

A/N: Me, posting fic during daylight hours? I’m just as surprised as you are, who am I

@damerondjarin​ @rzrcrst​ @okay-hotshot​ @beskars​ @acomplicatedprofession​ @huliabitch​ @pascalplease​ @darksideofclarke​ @thesefleshfailures @justawriterwithdreams​ @generaldamneron​ @criminal-cookies​ @someplace-darker​ @amarvelousmandalorian​ @roxypeanut​ @leahsafae​ @bunnyart-blog​ @duamuteffe​ @themandjalorian​ @hopelikethesun​ @dindjarindiaries​ @paniclana​ @winters-buck​ @pedropascalito​ @agentpike​ @hiscyarika​ @lesqui​ @mandadoration​ @the-huttslayer​ @poeticandors​ @tintinwrites​ @mserynlarsen​ @hystericalmedicine​ @queenofheavenandhell​ @himbopoes​ @qveenbvtch​ @bookshelvesandteacups​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​

Something is— something is wrong with the Mandalorian. The fact that he’s returning without the quarry is concerning enough but the way he’s moving, the way he’s hauling himself up the ramp and out of the jungle like he’s hurt is what sends your heart rocketing into your throat. You can’t see any chinks in the beskar even as he steps into the light of the Razor Crest and the rational part of your brain realizes that the lack of any outward signs of injury, that his armor is still in place, should make you feel better. 

Instead what it does is make you swallow, makes you want to reach out and run your hands along the gleaming metal and the thick fabric between the plates, fingers probing for something to fix. “Mando?” You hate how your voice sounds even as it’s leaving your mouth, thin and shaking under its own weight and you feel the anxiety curdle in your gut.

You had just put the Child down for the night and thought it was funny, this odd turn your life had taken in these last months. Going from odd job doer to nurse maid and medic and whatever else a situation may call for. You didn’t realize how attached you’d truly grown to it until now.

The Mandalorian grunts and the sound is ragged at the edges, and you watch with wide eyes as he sits heavily on the cot as if his legs won’t support him any longer and he— he starts tearing at his gloves, at his arm braces. Any other time you’d be fascinated by the skin he’s showing you, normally only glimpsed through blood and bacta spray, but now it only makes your blood run cold.

“Something got under the helmet,” His voice is slurred, the words crashing into one another before they leave the confines of his mouth. He sounds like he drank an entire jug of spotchka by himself and your brain starts to prickle with realization. “Just— I feel so, feel so hot,”

You swallow, careful to keep your distance now when just moments before you had wanted to run to him. “Did you notice any smells? Any...strange tastes in your mouth?” You know enough botany to have dread settling low in your stomach, replacing the anxiety that had been threatening to overtake you. You don’t think this planet houses a lethal strain— uncomfortable, yes. Life altering, perhaps. But not lethal.

The questions make him pause, thank Maker, because this is the most skin he’s ever shown you and already the guilt is gnawing. You know his Creed, piecing it together from the stories you’ve heard about the Mandalorians and from his own mouth, and you are terrified. Terrified that he’ll go for his helmet next, that you won’t be able to stop him in time and then what? What comes after?

“It smelled...sweet, but, but more than that—” He doesn’t know how to explain how it smelled sweet and spiced and soft. As soft as he knows your hands are when you patch him up somewhere he can’t reach, as soft as he imagines other places are. He shakes his head hard to dislodge that thought but it’s already taken hold and now he can’t stop. 

He’s having trouble remembering why it’s a bad idea to reach out for you, drag you into his lap and fill his hands and his mouth with you, gorge himself on sensation until he’s sick with it. He feels like he’s burning up, boiling from the inside out and his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton but it’s watering for you.

His mouth. That’s right, you asked him if he tasted anything. He did— some strange, flavored heat having curled into his mouth and he can’t describe the taste, just knows that it was good and he won’t be opposed to tasting it again. 

“I don’t know, something— something good,” The edges of his voice are fuzzed out by the vocoder but the rasp isn’t smoothed and his words skitter down your spine to settle low in your belly. You had spent months perfecting how you deal with the Mandalorian; friendly, compassionate, maybe a little teasing, but most of all understanding of his Creed and the Way and that meant ignoring the affection that had started to fester not long after you’d met. Ignoring the way your mind wandered at night or when you were alone, and it was all going to come crashing down because he’d had a run in with fucking adamari pollen.

If the circumstances weren’t so dire you think you’d laugh because this is ridiculous.

You swallow and raise your hands like you’re trying to placate something feral, show it that you mean it no harm. “We need to stay away from each other for the next few hours, alright?” You hate the way your voice sounds, thin and shaking underneath its own weight and you aren’t sure what you’re more scared of— him forgetting himself or you letting him. 

He’s breathing harshly but he only tilts his helmet at you, not realizing what you’re trying to say so you try again, tongue flicking over your suddenly dry lips. “You’ve heard of adamari, right?”

That causes him to still right down to his labored breathing and you rush to reassure him the only way you know how. “This one isn’t lethal we just— you just have to ride it out,” Maker, did he bring any in with him? You can feel yourself warming, goosebumps rising on your flesh the longer he looks at you from behind that dark visor but that could just be the Mandalorian himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, not even slightly, but it most certainly is the worst time.

“It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?” The words rumble through the vocoder and you can only nod, seeing the way his hands fist atop his thighs and you swallow thickly. You know you can’t stop him, you know you won’t want to stop him once he puts his hands on you and that’s why one of you has to leave.

“Look, it’s probably going to last the rest of the night. At least,” You tack the words on as an afterthought, figuring you should warn him before he’s too far gone, remembering how depending on the strain and the dosage the effects can last anywhere  between a few hours to a couple days.

You watch as the Mandalorian flexes his hands before he straps his braces back on, fitting his hands back into his gloves slowly as if the movements of covering himself back up are paining him now in some ironic twist of fate. “I’ll go.” The words are simple, brooking no arguments. Maybe they would have inspired more confidence if they hadn’t sounded like they were pushed through gritted teeth.

He hauls himself to standing, a mass of gleaming beskar and you hold your breath as he walks past you, not missing the way he pauses, the way his helmet cants towards you. “Take care of the kid for me,” It’s a forgone conclusion at this point but you understand his need to say it still and you nod, murmuring a simple ‘of course’ into the still air. He doesn’t resume walking right away, instead watching you for long, drawn out moments that make you feel like an ash-rabbit caught in a snare before he stumbles down the ramp, shaking his head.

You’re trembling as you shut the ship back up, not able to tell if your sigh is one of relief or disappointment as he keeps walking into the jungle.

Should you— should you activate the ground security protocols? You probably should in case something other than the Mandalorian tries to get in, but it almost feels like a betrayal as you do. You aren’t afraid of him, not really, and you don’t want him to think that you are. What you’re afraid of is you inadvertently causing his life to unravel because you can’t keep your eyes closed. You’re afraid that it’s the pollen to blame for this, that no part of him actually wants you. 

You try to distract yourself by checking on the Child, sleeping peacefully in his crib and you hope he remains that way for the rest of the night. You press a button on the machine and the canopy slides back into place, blocking out all the lights and noises of the Crest and you almost wish you could join him. 

You wonder if the famed Mandalorian discipline will be enough to keep away during the long hours of the night, that it will somehow overcome the effects of the drugging plant. Maybe he’ll get far enough away before it really slams into him.

You spend hours like this, unable to keep yourself from pacing around the Crest and jumping at every little noise, from the ship settling to the sounds of the jungle outside, and all the while wondering. Wondering how he’s faring, if it’s gotten worse yet. If he’s in pain and if it would have been a better idea to let him stay and help him. He might not have reached for his helmet like you’re so afraid of.

It’s the middle of the night and your nerves have started to dull, sleep beginning to pull on the edges of your brain. Nothing has activated the ground security protocols and you’ve found the rhythm in the noise of the nightbugs and the creatures and the groans of the Razor Crest. The Child hasn’t woken despite your pacing and nervous energy thrumming out, and all is well. 

And then the lights go out.

Adrenaline surges through your body and your heart kicks into a relentless pace and you almost feel like you’re floating with the sudden onset of energy as you spring from your place on the floor. No alarms are blaring. There are no sounds you don’t already recognize and there is nothing banging on the hull of the ship, demanding to be let inside. 

The Mandalorian has returned. The Mandalorian has returned and you can’t see a thing.

Arousal and anxiety clash in your gut, colliding until you’re shaking and you don’t know which is which. The dark serves as a loophole, but how strong is it? The urge to run wells up within you so strongly that you almost gasp, feeling your way through the dark as you try to figure out a place to hide.

What if he regrets it, afterwards? Thinks it’s shameful and can’t bear to be around you anymore? Even worse, what if it’s never spoken of again and you have to live with the knowledge of what he feels like, his skin against your own and buried inside of you and you won’t be able to do anything about it.

Your blood is rushing in your ears as you creep through the gloom, your mind racing. There are only so many places to hide in the Razor Crest and your first instinct is to hurl yourself into the storage closet he calls a bunk and seal yourself up in it but you know that would be asking for trouble. You think if you can make it to the ladder you might have a shot of scrambling up, sealing the hatch before the Mandalorian reaches you.

You’re pointedly ignoring the fact that he probably has some sort of nightvision equipped in his helmet and can obviously see better than you if he’s plunging the Crest into absolute darkness on a whim.

You don’t even think you breath as you move, barely picking your feet off the floor and somehow forcing yourself to go slow, to take your time so you don’t run headfirst into a wall. The goosebumps are back and the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end and you feel so thoroughly watched that you think you can feel his eyes on your like a caress. 

You don’t know how far you make it before you feel a heavy hand on the center of your back, pushing you up against the wall and then the Mandalorian is pressing himself against you, trapping you between two layers of solid metal and you almost keen from the sensation of it.

“M’sorry, I— I tried, so hard, I’m sorry,” He slurs into your ear and all the breath you’ve been holding leaves your lungs in a gust because you’re not hearing the blurry, filtered voice through the vocoder anymore and you can feel his lips on your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin desperately. He’s taken his gloves off too and his hands are everywhere. 

They slip beneath your tunic without warning and his skin is fever hot and rough, and you can’t stop yourself from shaking if you try when he grasps your breasts, cupping their fullness and squeezing, forcing a whine from your throat. He keeps mumbling apologies against your neck, soothing bites with his tongue and gasping for breath because there’s just so much of you he’s never touched, never felt like this and you’re so soft and warm and he’s losing his mind.

“S’okay, really,” You do your best to reassure him but you think the pollen is rubbing off you, it has to be because it’s like once he got you in his arms all that anxiety and fear that was festering and curdling in your stomach turned to pure heat in a single instant and you can feel the wetness already slicking the insides of your thighs. 

His chin hooks over your shoulder and you think he’s trying to watch himself play with you— you have no idea if he can even see but the idea that he’s trying cranks you higher. Your other senses have heightened to compensate for the lack of vision and maybe that’s the reason why you almost cry when his fingers clasp around your nipples. He pinches and rolls the puckering flesh, and you’re unable to stop the sob of his name that leaves your mouth. “M-Mando,”

The sound of that word on your lips, little more than a gasping moan, is what breaks him the rest of the way. The words come pouring out of his mouth then and fill your head up until the sound of them and his touch are the only things that exist for you. 

“Wanted this for s-so long and you— you’re—” You’re letting me, the thought finishes unspoken because he can’t believe it. You’re arching your spine and reaching behind you, clawing at any part of him you can reach and he loves it. He loves the way you taste and the sounds that are pouring from your lips and he’s never been this hard in his life.

His hands finally come unglued from your breasts and rasp down your side, his rough palms catching on your skin and the contrast has you both shaking. The Mandalorian doesn’t waste time, isn’t capable of it as he shoves his hand underneath the waistband of your pants and your underwear and— and he fucking chokes.

You’re so warm and wet that for a moment all he can do is groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his big body shuddering against your own. He drags a finger through your slit, in awe of just how wet you are for him as you rock in his palm. He can’t get over the fact that you’re almost sobbing for him now as he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers sloppily over your clit and he can feel your thighs quiver. 

“Im-imagined this,” He can’t stop himself from talking, needing to get the words out, to let you know that it isn’t pollen that’s caused all this. It only sped up the timeline, pushing him off the cliff he’s spent the past months edging towards. “Didn’t know yo-you’d be this— this warm,” His voice cracks on the last word and he groans raggedly into your ear because at that exact moment he’s slicking two of his fingers into your weeping cunt and some part of him thinks this is a hallucination. This has to be a hallucination because there’s no way you’re this hot, there’s no way you’re drenching his hand and moaning for him.

He tells you as much, rasping right into your ear how tight you are, how good you’re taking his fingers. How he’s been dying for this.

You try to brace yourself against the wall as your hips bear down on his thick fingers, able to feel the dips and ridges  of his knuckles while your free hand clutches at the arm he has wound around your waist to keep you crushed against him. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes and you already feel so full but you’re greedy, and maybe the pollen has rubbed off on you after all because as amazing as his fingers are spearing up into you, you want his cock more.

You try to tell him but when you open your mouth to do so the only thing that comes out is a whimper because the Mandalorian is pressing the heel of his hand hard into your pubic bone while his fingers work, grinding your clit against his hand. You can feel the bridge of his nose pressing into the line of your jaw, his breath huffing over your skin and it’s all too much.

You feel yourself clamp down on his fingers and your mouth hangs open and the only thing you can hear is the Mandalorian’s moan in your ear. He presses you harder into the wall and his hand stills, keeping the pressure on your clit and just curling his fingers within you. You don’t notice how your nails are digging into his wrist and the hand you have on the wall is shaking as it reaches back, blindly seeking the Mandalorian to pull him closer as your hips stutter and grind into his palm.

You don’t realize you’ve started begging him until the buzzing clears from your head. “Please, p-please, Man-Mando, just— I need your cock,” You sound as wrecked as you feel and the Mandalorian grunts somewhere behind you, ripping at his belt before the words are fully out of your mouth. You want to help him but your hands are shaking too much and you’re still trying to remember how to breathe properly when you feel a blunt pressure against your slippery folds.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and you’re rocking impatiently on just his tip, whining at the feel of his hands now gripping your hips to try and hold you still. You still haven’t gotten used to the feel of his bare hands on you and it’s like each brush of them, every squeeze and and rub making you feel almost delirious. They’re hot against you, fingers digging in around the bone and somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you know you’ll have marks later, a roadmap of where and how he touched you  and you can’t wait to trace your fingertips over them in the daylight.

Any control he’s managed to cling to is gone and he’s helpless not to buck his hips, filling you up in one decisive thrust that sends you lurching into the wall. You cry out from the sensation of his cock splitting you open, the stretch pinching just enough for the pain to put the pleasure into focus, sharpening it to a razor’s edge. 

This is what he’s been hiding underneath all that beskar? The thought slides across your mind like a tendril of smoke, half formed and nearly transparent before it blinks out of existence as fast as it came into being because the Mandalorian is rutting over you, armor biting into the backs of your thighs as he tries to press as close as physically possible each time he bottoms out within you.

He’s barely pulling out, as if he can’t stand the thought of separating from you even just the few inches he needs for leverage, is something unbearable and it is glorious.  The tears have spilled from your eyes and his hands are clutching you, arms banding around your front to keep you molded to his chest so tightly that your breathing is restricted from the pressure across your chest but you can’t manage to care.

You aren’t being granted any sort of reprieve from how deliciously full you are and you think you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags inside you, scraping heavily against that one specific spot that’s causing you to see stars in the darkness, pinpricks of light igniting behind your eyelids. His name is falling pathetically from your lips, your high pitched and needy and he just keeps going. His mouth at your ear, slurring how you feel around him, how well you’re taking him and how he never wants to leave your heat. 

You use his voice, so much clearer without the vocoder, as a homing beacon and reach a trembling hand over your shoulder, sifting your fingers through the sweaty curls you find at the nape of his neck. He shudders and snarls when you give them an experimental tug and you feel it right down to your toes— so you do it again.

He digs his hips into yours in a rhythm that borders on brutal and you’re only able to last for so long because the arm around your stomach drops low and he’s pressing his fingers into your clit again, quick and desperate.  And then, almost before you realize what’s happening, your vision is whiting out and your pussy is clamping down around his cock, your flesh pulsing around him as you hang, suspended time time and unable to feel anything but the pleasure as it rockets up your spine and covers your skin like syrup, thick and sticky-sweet.  Your mouth is hanging open but no sound comes out at first and— and then you’re mewling some pitiful parody of his name because he’s fucking you through the first orgasm and on into the second if he doesn’t stop.

Which he doesn’t. You’re sensitive and shaking and he isn’t stopping, driving into you again and again before he stills, cock buried as deep as he could manage and he moans. The sound is broken against your shoulder, blunt teeth indenting your skin and you’re sure you’ve never heard anything better.  Liquid heat fills you, makes you arch and writhe and feel almost like a lothcat in heat. 

The Mandalorian doesn’t move away from you like you had been so afraid of just hours before, doesn’t rush to cover himself or start offering apologies. Instead you feel him panting against your upper back and he slackens his bite, laving at the marks he left with his tongue. He squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, rumbling a single word that has you quivering all over again— 

“More.”

Hours later you’re sprawled atop the Mandalorian, your cheek resting against the cool metal of his cuirass and his cock still buried in you. You have no idea how long you’ve been laying like that, his hand drifting across your back, tracing nonsense patterns along your spine with his bare fingers. He put his helmet back on sometime during the night and as much as you missed the access to his mouth, the sound of his unfiltered voice, you understood.

You’re drifting somewhere between being awake and unconsciousness, only aware of the feel of his hands, the hard lines of beskar pressing into your skin, and how full you feel, reminded of that in particular every time you so much as twitch.

You hum in sleepy acknowledgement when he calls your name, only raising your head when he squeezes your shoulder and gives it a little shake. You rest your chin on your hand and fix his visor with what you hope isn’t a look of lazy contempt, though whatever your expression may have been it melts at the first touch of his hand on your cheek and you can’t resist the urge to nuzzle into his warm palm.  The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that your eyes are starting to drift shut when he begins to speak, soft and slow. “This, it—  it started because of the pollen,” He lets the words hang in the air and you have the sense that he chose the words carefully. He doesn’t take his hand from you, letting you lean the weight of your head into his palm, thumb stroking the delicate skin underneath your eye so slowly you don’t know if he realizes what he’s doing.

You don’t answer him right away, instead you lift yourself up just enough for you to be able to reach his helmet, doing your best to ignore the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls and you can feel him tense right through the beskar. You don’t reach for it. You don’t even move your hands from where they’re braced against his chest. Instead you move slowly and carefully, leaning forward to press your lips to the visor in a soft kiss before you settle back onto his chest.

You hear his sigh through the vocoder, the tension seeping out from underneath you and you feel your lips pulling into a smile as you close your eyes. You’re higher up than you were before, just enough for your cheek to press into the softer spot between his cuirass and his pauldron and you want to hum with contentment. You know that you have to talk about this sooner or later, but for now you only want to bask in the afterglow, in the languid soreness that’s settling into your muscles.